


Saving You

by LauraRose, xphil98197



Series: The Woman [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock (TV) RPF
Genre: BDSM, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Oral Sex, Shibari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-04-23 23:00:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4895620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LauraRose/pseuds/LauraRose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xphil98197/pseuds/xphil98197





	1. Chapter 1

A year later, nothing had been seen if the lovely Miss Adler. For all intents and purposes, she was dead... There had been at least four bodies appear that appeared to be her... But she was always slippery.

"Sherlock," John said as he handed the man a cup of tea. "I know you think Mycroft is a pain in the arse... And I agree... But I'm worried about you."

"Nothing to worry about, I'm just thinking," Sherlock spun the crop in his fingers. "Has Lestrade sent us anything of interest?"

"Something about an influx of children coming into the city... Suspects there might be some sort of human trafficking happening. Stop playing with the crop. Where did you get that one from anyway?"

"I don't remember," Sherlock answered, not meeting his eyes. "Is he bringing the files?"

John shook his head. "You said you only wanted cases that were a ten... This one was a six at best..." He said patiently.

"There's children involved, John, don't be dull." Sherlock answered.

He huffed and made the phone calls and that afternoon, Lestrade came around with the folders. He set them down in front of Sherlock. "You wanted the case... You got it..." And he went on to explain it.

"Bangkok..." Sherlock looked at him thoughtfully. "Why now?" He flipped through the case file. "Who is funding their tickets?"

He shrugged. "They call her Madame... Or the mother... These children, they would end up in the sex industry if it wasn't for this woman…”

Sherlock stared at him, suddenly pale. "Madame?"

"The children call her that... Are you okay?"

"It reminded me of something," Sherlock shook his head. He grabbed the file and his coat, and left.

It was a few hours before John tracked him down and dropped into the park bench beside him. He offered him a Styrofoam cup of tea. "So who is she?" He asked quietly.

"I'm not- I don't want to talk about it, John," Sherlock stared at the lake. "I don't want to get my hopes up."

"You remember at Baskerville... When you said that you only had one friend... Well, friends listen. I won't judge, Sherlock... But I will listen and try and help ."

"It's not something I can talk about John, I'm sorry. The only person I could talk to is involved. Can you find my passport for me?"

John looked a little hurt by the rejection but agreed to it, leaving out the passport and travel documents.

Sherlock made one stop before the airport. "Hello, Kate, it's been a long time. I'm heading to Bangkok, should I bring her a message for you?"

Kate smiled over her cup of tea. Sherlock had told her everything, and together they mourned the loss of the woman they both loved. Kate had to tell Sherlock that she felt far more than friendship for her. "Just tell her I love her and miss her."

"As do I," he admitted. "Why didn't you go to her?" Just then a young girl came running in with her backpack. Sherlock heard Kate answer her in Thai. "Of course. Thank you for the tea."

"Because she would not tell me where she was... This is Clara," she lifted the child onto her knee. "She was orphaned and now has a home here with me..."

"You're an intelligent woman, Kate, I know Clara's arrival gave you some idea," he smiled. "I'll give her your best."

She smiled a little. "Irene had my heart a long time ago, Sherlock... Even if I could never unlock hers... Good luck, Sherlock Holmes," and Kate saw him out.

Sherlock sat on the plane, staring out the window. The Singapore Air stewardesses in their matching dresses and haircuts were a little too bizarre. In a way it reminded him of the children that she was sending back to England, to protect them.  
***  
He knocked on the door, and handed the teen aged boy a long box. "For Madame," he said. He waited while the boy closed the door and went to deliver it.

The boy climbed to the top floor of the house, carrying the box. He knocked on the door and handed it too the girl there. "For Madame," he said and handed it there. He was told to wait... And then to bring him up.

Sherlock followed the boy up the several flights of narrow stairs. The house was bright, and there were children talking in the rooms. He could hear one group repeating a song in English, and another counting. When he got to the top of the stairs, he knocked once on the door, and waited.

The girl bowed to him and showed him into a lovely little waiting room. "Wait here please," she said and left him there. There were voices coming from the next room... Then a man left, and a familiar voice called out. "Come in, Sherlock."

"Hello, Irene," Sherlock smiled at her. She looked a bit older, tired. But she looked much happier, more fulfilled. "Asia suits you. I had a file sent to me, something about a sudden influx of children coming to England sponsored, being rescued from the sex trade. Ah, and Kate wanted me to tell you she sends her love."

Irene blinked at him slowly as she sat and stretched. " What are you doing here, Sherlock?" She said and pushed the box towards him.

"I came to see if there was anything you needed," he took the box. "Its a big job, and I'm sure you can use all the help you can get. And... I wanted to see you were alright," he studied her.

"As you can see, we are fine, Sherlock," her eyes dropped to the laptop that was before her, and she closed the lid. "Was there anything else?"

"Are you free tonight? Let's have dinner," Sherlock studied her posture. "I've never been to Bangkok before, and topless karaoke doesn't appeal to me. Let's see something beyond the tourist parts."

Irene stared at him like he had gone completely mad… then looked away dismissively. “I am busy tonight. Take the crop and go. I have work to do,” she said as she stretched in her chair, and rolled her shoulders.

"Please," Sherlock asked softly. He found one of the knots in her neck with his thumb, a rather nasty one that made her shiver.

She smacked his hand away, caught it and followed through, pulling it up behind his back. Something cold pressed against the back of his neck, just at the base of his skull.

"While I try not to expose my girls to more than they already see, when it's you, I will make an exception. I am busy, and I have a large deal going through very soon. You timing, as per usual, is exceptionally poor."

"It always is," Sherlock held up his hands. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Why do you want to help me?" Her grip loosened and she stepped back. Cold as ice.

"Don't be dull," Sherlock sighed. He turned to face her, a wistful expression on his face. "What do you need?"

"Right now? A bottle of wine, aspirin and a long tropical holiday," she smiled dryly. "You're still here. You should be leaving. I told you not to follow me, Mr Holmes."

"The bottle of wine and aspirin should be easy enough," Sherlock smiled. "Maybe after this mess, the tropical holiday. Phuket is beautiful this time of year. I didn't follow you. I didn't even look."

Her hand slapped on the table, hard. "Then what are you doing here? I'm trying to do some something worth while, trying to find some redemption and old ghosts keep reappearing!"

"Who else?" Sherlock asked. "No. He shouldn't be here." He had purposely not gone into her background to respect her wishes. But now he found himself regretting that.

She arched an eyebrow at him. "What?"

"I didn't destroy him, and I should have, after Rome," Sherlock was furious. "I tried to respect your decision and forget about you. But I should have killed him first." His own protectiveness was a new feeling as well.

"It's rather sweet that you think I need protection, Sherlock, but I don't," she said. "Now I really cannot do tonight. Tomorrow night?"

"OK," he nodded. "But keep me as an extra pair of hands tonight."

She sighed and then smiled a little. "Fine. You can hang around but if you get in my way, I will put you over my knee."

"That's fairly good incentive to ensure I DON'T behave, Miss Adler," Sherlock smirked. He knelt next to her chair and laid his head against her knee.

Her hand went to his hair, carding through it lightly. Her touch was soft, gentle."Sherlock... You shouldn't be here..."

"I know," he whispered. "But I couldn't forget. They're still asking me... what's wrong with me. And I can't say."

"Because they all think I'm dead... Or they will demand that you take me back to stand trial..." She stroked his hair.

"No, because you don't want to be found, and I respect that," he sighed, the stress draining out of him. "I upset you, and I didn't want to intrude."

"Shh..." She tilted his chin up to face her. "Come and have a look around? I think you might be proud of me..." She said as she tousled his hair.

"Of course," Sherlock looked at her, curious why she might want his approval.

She stood up and offered him her hand and then together, she lead them out. The woman who had seen them in bowed as they left. “Welcome to the school, Sherlock. You interrupted lessons,” she said quietly. “It's almost lunch time, and then afterwards, there will be an assembly.”

"I saw the children, they look happy," Sherlock said softly. "You did a good job, Irene, you should be very proud. I'm just curious why Scotland Yard thinks it's a child slavery ring."

“Because I am buying them out of the sex rings, blackmailing several makour players and trying to get as many of the girls into education as I can. Most of their mothers work in one of the brothels that I run, and a proportion of their wages goes to keeping their children in the school… but getting them away from the people sex rings requires money that the parents cannot provide… so I find the money.”

"That's amazing, but how did you attract attention?" Sherlock touched her shoulder. He bent to look over her shoulder, and realized she still smelt the same. When she turned, it was to see the agonized expression on his face, the smell triggering the memory of going into his mind palace with the smell of her next to him on the pillow.

“I am trying not to attract attention… I have no idea how Michael found me…” She said, pressing her lips together in a frown. “Are you hungry? We usually eat with the children, if that’s okay with you?”

"That's fine," Sherlock was rattled and followed her quietly. "I don't usually eat. Michael, that's him, your step brother?"

“Yes,” She said quietly. A rather clipped response. "He is in the city... I don't know where..."

"That settles that, I'll stay here," Sherlock said firmly. "At least I brought a suitcase this time. And some weaponry."

“I have hired protection, Sherlock. I don’t need another body guard. Do you have a hotel?”

"No, I can find one. But you need me here. They aren't trained to deal with criminals like the ones from England. I need some information on Michael from you, and then I'm going to do some looking of my own. I want to know who he is involved with, and who he has been talking to."

“The school has bedroom for the staff members. One of them is heavily pregnant and has gone home to give birth, you are welcome to the room if you would like… and no questions now,” they went into a large room where boys and girls sat at tables, all of them eating of treys. Several of them waved at her, and she waved back. More then one came to hug ‘Madame A.’ as they called her and it took a while before Irene could fend them off well enough.

Sherlock watched her silently, the way she interacted with the children. He could see how different she was with them, how she paid attention and hugged them back, calling each by name. He was impressed to hear her speak a fair amount of Thai, and then turn and speak to several of the instructors in French. It was a change from the website of "The Woman" that he had seen last year, a woman clearly enjoying the mothering.

“You’re gawping, Sherlock,” Irene said as she prodded him to the back where the staff ate. It was simple, basic food, the local staple. She took her tray and sat down.

Sherlock was familiar enough with Thai food to know that the sticky rice was used to pick up the vegetables, rather than utensils. But he had an appetite for the first time in a long time, since he had last seen her.

She ate hungrily and talked with the staff, introducing them to Sherlock and then him to them, watching at the students are with happiness that was... So rare.

Sherlock was befriended by a little boy in a wheelchair who spoke a bit of English, enough to teach him words in Thai, and then have Sherlock teach him the English equivalents for what they were eating, colors, and clothes. By the end of the meal Sherlock found himself committed to playing violin for them, once they found out he played.

"Did you bring your violin?" She asked as she watched the teachers hurry the students back to class.

"Yes, it's in my case downstairs," he smiled. "I wasn't sure I would find you, and I needed an outlet besides cocaine and pain if I didn't. I'm glad I did though," he found himself staring at her, watching the way she moved, her hair.

"I have to visit my other place of work this afternoon. I have a client visiting... Whose husband I am blackmailing..." She smiled wryly.

"Ah," Sherlock laughed. "I will wander around here, or should I come with you?"

She shrugged. "That all depends on you, Sherlock."

"Do you need a pet, then? I hope you have a collar."

"I haven't taken a long term submissive since I was in London, Sherlock. I still earn a fair wage for what I do... But it's been a while..."

"I can't stay forever, but I can follow orders while I'm here," Sherlock looked at her, guarded. "It could be the perfect undercover. Just... be honest with me. Going back to London, after Rome, was... difficult."

Her expression was open, relaxed and seemed unguarded... But there was little emotion in her eyes. She was... Cold. Empty. Except for the way her fingers carded through his hair, that said an awful lot. "Just be your brilliant, smart mouthed self."

"Yes, Miss Adler," he nodded and fell into step behind her.

They went through the city together, talking quietly. "Have you ever been here before, Sherlock?" She asked quietly.

"Once, I know a little of the city," he nodded. "Its beautiful, and the people are very nice. I had a good time. I read for days, wandered until I got hungry, and then went to restaurants where I just pointed at the food. But, that's was a long time ago. Before the cocaine."

"Do you regret it?" She asked quietly.

"The cocaine? No. It's one of only two things that made me feel alive. You were the other."

That seemed to make the woman smile and she looked down at her hands. She sighed. “Sherlock, I am not good for you… Don’t you see that? I will probably end up destroying you,” she looked up at him. “Its what I am good at.”

"I'm not the same person I was before I met you, I'll take the risk," he sighed. "And I wouldn't change a minute of it."

"You know what they say... Humankind usually falls for their first..." And out of every human on this planet, she was probably the worst for him.

"I am aware," Sherlock kissed the back of her neck. "The one thing my brain decided to obsess on. I couldn't distract it."

“You should not have come,” she turned to him, and pulled him down, meeting his mouth with hers. Her arms slipped around his neck and she pulled him close to her, capturing his mouth.

"How soon do we have to leave?" He pinned her against the wall and held her tiny waist in his hands. 

Irene groaned and squirmed out of his grasp, twisting and pinning him to the wall. Her hands circled his wrists and kissed his jaw.

"Please," he begged her. He knelt and laid his head against her stomach. "I waited so long."

“Tomorrow, Sherlock…” She ran her fingers through his hair lightly. “Stand up… I need you to be strong, and tell me anything that you see tonight.” Taking his hand, she lead him to the place where she ran the brothel. A multi story building, where she took Sherlock to the top floor. “Would you be my plus one?”

"Of course, should I change into something more formal?" He held her by the elbow, and opened the door she headed towards.

“I do have a client first,” she made a shooing motion towards the door with a smile on her lips. “But yes… Wander around in here, I will find you when ready. If you hear any of the girls screaming, feel free to throw out whoever she is with. I do not stand for that kind of behaviour… I am aware what we do is low… but I have standards.”

"I'll go fetch my bags, and change," Sherlock nodded. He wandered down the stairs to find his bags and violin, exchanging smiles with several of the teachers as he passed. He changed his clothes and tuned the violin, wandering out onto the balcony of the room he had been assigned. 

It was well over an hour and a half before Irene came to him. She was dressed to kill, her dress backless, clinging to her like a jet black second skin. Her hair was piled up on the back of his her head.

Sherlock was dressed in a skin tight black shirt, and charcoal black pants. His suit coat was unbuttoned, and he had the first three buttons of the shirt undone. His hair was tousled like he had just rolled out of bed. 

"I am almost afraid to take you out," Irene said softly. "Someone might steal you..."

"No, Miss Adler," he shook his head. "I'm there with you. Did you find me a collar to wear?"

"No. Tonight I need you there as my equal. I need your eyes open and watching. Tonight, I need you at your best."

"Of course, Irene," Sherlock bent and kissed her hand. "Shall we find a cab? Just tell me who to watch for, and what we are hoping to observe."

As she finished preparing herself, Irene explained what it was. They were having dinner with a pair of brothers who were very influential in the drugs world and who were both clients of her. Neither of them knew about the other though, and neither of them knew she had photographs that they really did not want their wives to see.

"Just lead, and I will follow," Sherlock watched her, watched her put on her battle armour in the mirror. "You look perfect, stop fussing," he rested his chin on her shoulder. 

"Two vs two are odds that I much prefer," she ignored him as she continued to fuss. "They will cave if I press right."

"Yes, Miss Adler," Sherlock tried to shake himself out of the stupor of watching her, imagining what else they could be doing instead of going out. 

Instead, she took his arm, and then swapped it, so it looked like she had his before they were escorted to one of the richest provinces in the city. It was past the tourist areas, but when they got out the car, they were in front of a fine dining establishment.

"After you, Madame," Sherlock held the door. After they were escorted to their table, Sherlock pulled out her chair, and took her jacket. He unfolded her napkin with a flourish, and smiled prettily at the waiter with a wink.

"You're showing off, Mr Holmes," she said but she was smiling. Their guests had not arrived yet, and her full attention was on him.

"You bring out the best in me," he smiled and poured her a glass of wine. "I don't get to use all my posh charm very often. It's lost on straight men and takeout containers. Mycroft would be horrified to see I actually absorbed all of it, and yet refuse to use it around him."

“Ah yes, how is your brother?” She mused, her memory of the Holmes brothers being something rather worth remembering. “If only I could dig some dirt up on him…” she tapped her chin thoughtfully.

"My brother would have to do something interesting enough to blackmail, which I don't see happening. His diet mishaps are common knowledge," Sherlock laughed. "I don't know that he's ever had a date. Although I know a certain grey haired detective who would be first in line."

She chuckled. “Lestrade… He never could keep up with me… How is John?” she asked, as she sipped at her wine. "Did you tell him where you were?"

"No, I told him I couldn't talk about it, because I didn't want to lie to him. He wasn't happy about the answer, but he knows me enough by now that he doesn't press the issue."

“You should talk to him and be honest…” Irene said gently… and then froze. Her eyes were on the door, and her hand which held the glass started to shake so badly, that the wine sloshed over her pale hand.

Sherlock stood immediately, dreading the inevitable. The only person that could elicit that sort of reaction from Irene would be Michael, the stepbrother who had spent so many years tormenting her. He put a hand on her shoulder. "Let me handle this."

“Sit down,” Irene snarled at Sherlock, and snagged one of the waiters down. She whispered in his ear, and then pressed her lips to his cheek. He blushed and nodded, gesturing for them to follow him “Through the kitchens… come on, Sherlock…” she stood and snatched her coat before hurrying to follow.

He hurried after her as fast as he could. Guns weren't allowed on planes, but he had stopped off in the kitchen of the school to arm himself with several sharp knives.

A cab was waiting outside and she ducked into it. As soon as they were both in, and the car was driving, she swore viciously.

"Tell me," he said. "Tell me what you need me to do and I will do it. Who needs to die?"

"Oh please, Sherlock, just shut up!" She snarled, and put her head in her hands.

Sherlock looked at her, frightened. He wasn't sure how he should react, she hadn't been quite this unraveled in Rome, even in bed. He sat quietly and waited for her.

She breathed deep and closer her eyes, just trying to regain control of herself until they were at the school and was out quickly, storming in.

Sherlock followed her, giving her space. He went to his own room and tuned his violin. He played something soothing, something that told about the time they had spent together in Rome, things neither of them could put into words.

She didn't go to him though. The Woman spent the rest of the night pacing back and forth, on the phone, trying to sort out the deal that would have saved lives... Getting them away from the men who tried to exploit them...

Sherlock knew she needed time. So he let her be, and when he he went down to breakfast in the morning, he brought his violin. She found him making noises on the violin that mimicked animal calls, the children laughing in delight.

She was in a foul mood with the adults, snapping at them until they left her well enough alone. The mood, however, never carried to the children. She stalked off to sit on her own.

Sherlock noticed, so he went and sat at the table where the boy in the wheelchair was smiling. He engaged them and allowed them to touch the violin, and drag the bow across the strings. They went over some new words in Thai and English about breakfast foods, and then he went with them to the piano in the lobby. Several of the children clamored to teach him basic songs, and he left Irene to relax while he interacted.

She barely touched her food. The more she tried to eat, the less she could stomach and eventually, she pushed it away and left. She headed back up to her room.

Sherlock let her go. He saw the children off to class and then went to his room to talk to John and his brother, letting them know he had arrived safely and checked in with Lestrade to let him know that the children arriving were being saved, not sold.


	2. Chapter 2

Eventually, and it wasn't until later that evening, Irene knocked on his door. She looked tired, and the way she was standing, she looked stiff. Uncomfortable.

"Hello," Sherlock opened the door. He let her in and poured her a cup of tea from the pot on the desk. "I have to bring some of this tea home. Golden Dragon Oolong, the name comes from when they drank it in opium dens. It helped with coming down from the high. Smoking opium used to be called chasing the dragon. What are you chasing, Irene?"

“A migraine at this rate,” she said and sat herself down. Uncomfortable, she shifted. “I wondered… would you perhaps give my neck a bit of a massage? What you did in Rome… It was better than it has ever been after that…”

"Of course, do you have some lotion?" He brushed the hair off the back of her neck and winced at the knots. "You are tight, I should stretch this first."

She nodded. "In my room. How do I stretch it out?"

"Just get the lotion and put on some loose clothes, and I will do it for you," Sherlock said. He sat on the bed waiting for her to come back, and motioned for her to lay down.

She returned in what appeared to be sportswear and handed him the lotion and lay on her front.

Sherlock made short work of pulling her hair to the side and pushing on the pressure points while he stretched her neck to both sides. Then he warmed the lotion in both hands and smoothed the muscles, working out the knots gently.  
"Do you want to tell me, while you're relaxing?" he asked quietly.

Her neck cracked and groaned in protest as Sherlock began to manipulate her. She always had trouble with her neck.  
"No... Not at all. .."

"Alright," he let her have the quiet while he worked down her neck and shoulders. Then he switched to her lower back, stretching her hips to put them back into place.

The protests of her body began to ease and eventually she spoke softly. "I lost the deal... He is trying to ruin what I have done..."

“He isn't going to win," Sherlock told her. Maybe it's time to call Mycroft."

She froze and stiffened under his touch. " No. Absolutely not. No one else needs to know."

"He can get the kids to england safely though. Your name doesn't need to show up."

Irene paused and rolled over to look up at him. "He will want to know who... And why..." Fretted Irene.

"It's a case, let take them to a hotel and then call him, so doesn't connect it to this place," Sherlock tucked her hair back. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Michael is going to have to die though. I don't see a way around that."

"There is no reason for him to connect this place and me. I told you, he works as a lawyer... I am fine, Sherlock…”

"There was no reason for him to show up last night and he did, and I'm not leaving you alone here with him wandering around."

"I am not a child any more, Sherlock Holmes. My past is my past, and Michel doesn't exist to me any more," she pushed his hands away.

"You aren't a child. I only want you safe."

"I have killed more than you, I promise. Michel is no problem, there are guards around this building."

"I'm here if you need it," he told her. "How do you feel, any better?" He took her hand and dug his knuckle into the pressure point at the base of her thumb.

 

****

He bent to kiss the warm skin under her chin, and lick his way down the line of the pulse in her throat. He did manage to get the shirt off, and burrow his face between her breasts with a groan. A bit of licking and suckling and he was already moaning.

Irene shivered and sighed under his somewhat clumsy administration’s. His lack of experience slowed in this, and she guided him with gentle touches.

"I wanted this so bad," he admitted. He moved with her hands, content to follow her guidance. He was aware he wasn't the most knowledgeable man she had ever had, but he did hope somewhat the affection he felt made up for his shortcomings. All he could do was hope that what he was so inadequate to express was felt in his touch.

His affection for her was more than a little sweet and much more than a little unfounded as she pressed her mouth into his throat. Slowly, she moved, pushing him back onto the bed as she straddled him. Her eyes were dark, almost black, and she licked her lips. With hunger in her gaze, she caught his mouth, devouring it with hers.

"Whatever you want, let me, please," he begged. She looked at him like she was starving, about to consume him. And he couldn't think of anything he wanted more.

She ignored his pleas and explored him with ruthless efficiency, her hands over his body without mercy as she kissed and teased him, wanting to drive him insane.

He let her take charge, and take what she wanted. It was different than Rome, when she had been so cold. This time it was like she was pulling him closer, her body begging for more of him.

"Sherlock..." Her hands pressed down on his hips, pulling them until they were together, and kissed him softly. "What do you want?"

"You, anything you want, I want to give it to you," he arched against her, the soft warmth of her skin.

His arch sent shockwaves through her skin and she moaned into his neck.

He made short work of the ties in her hair, and let it fall, framing her face. She looked younger, but a couple of strands of grey had snuck in since he last saw her. She was lovely, though not as vain and distant as she had been in Rome. He ran his palms over her shoulder blades, and back, pulling her into him, close enough to taste.

The look that she was giving him made a colour rise to her cheeks and she blushed furiously, looking down at herself. Her heart raced under that scrutiny and she found herself breathing, panting hard.

"What, love?" Sherlock captured her mouth in another kiss, feeling her heart racing. He rubbed his knuckles down her blushing cheeks, soothing her.

"I... I'm not used to this... Wanting someone... Kate and I had an easy understanding. It's been lonely here..." She confessed quietly.

"I don't know how this works either," Sherlock assured her. "My last, well my first, and only, time was in Rome with you. I don't know the answers to this either. I just know that I want you, badly. It feels like it's going to consume me, how much I want to touch you."

“So touch me,” she whispered, guiding his hand to her hip gently.

Sherlock studied her face carefully, looking to make sure he wasn't misinterpreting her tone. He caressed her hip with the tips of his fingers, her skin electric under his touch.

He wasn't mistaking the tone although there was a hesitation in her. She caught his hand and pulled him against her body.

"Tell me?" he asked, hesitantly. He kept his hands on her skin, kept her as close as he could get without being inside her.

"It still makes me nervous," she said softly, "allowing someone to touch me. I always bind my clients."

"Do you want to bind me?" He asked. "I wouldn't mind. Tell me what you need."

"You're not a client," she said slowly and smiled a little. "Unless you want to pay?" She was teasing.

"What shall I pay you with?" Sherlock rolled them over so she was on the bottom, and sucked at the soft skin under her ear. One of his hands strayed between her legs, a light kiss to her jaw, and then he pinned her hands.

Irene groaned and she writhed under the feeling of his mouth, and her eyes had closed. Her lips were parted and she panted, squirming against his hand. The Woman jumped as he pinned her, and her eyes opened… but she did not fight him. Her eyes watched him with curiosity, her fingers flexing.

"Shall I pay you with my mouth?" He kissed her lips gently. "Or shall I pay you with my fingers?" He teased against the soft satin of her underwear. "Or some other way?"

Her legs parted and one knee drew up. "You're getting more confident, I see," she observed, not answering the questions.

"I had a year to think about it," Sherlock his his face bashfully as he blushed. "I... not that I had any practice."

She laughed and pulled his face to hers and kissed it softly. "Its okay... Youre okay..."

"Are you sure?" He asked quietly. "You're used to someone experienced, someone who follows orders. I have no idea, other than what we've done. I looked it up on the computer, and most of that looked... impossible?" He grimaced.

She smiled, understanding in her features. She guided his hand to her hip, guiding him to touch. "What we did... That was the first time I had done that too," with a man. She was used to being a sweet dream and fucking men into submission... Sherlock was different. So so different.

"I don't-" Sherlock bent to kiss her. "Never mind, we are wasting time. How long are you going to give me, this time? Before you disappear?" he asked wistfully.

"Shouldn't it be you that disappears? This is my home now. I've built an empire here and I'm actually doing some good..."

"I will," Sherlock nodded. "As soon as this is over, ok? I know I can't stay. But can we be realistic tomorrow?" 

"Realistic?" She questioned softly, leaning up on one elbow to look at him.

"I'm going to leave, you're going to get paid to tie people up, Michael is going to be rotting in an unmarked grave, and Mycroft is going to think I have turned over a philanthropic leaf."

That made her laugh out loud. "Your brother will think that you have been replaced by someone else... Or being threatened by someone..."

"My brother can think whatever he likes, as long as he doesn't pry," Sherlock retorted with a smile. He bent and sucked at one of her nipples, and ran his hands over her ribs, dragging the nails down her skin.

She squirmed and gasped, arching under his touch, before dragging him down to kiss him slowly, sweetly and then pulled away to look at him and she sighed. "I hated you for a while after Rome…”

"Yes?" He nodded. "I did as well. Hated myself. Hated you. Wanted more... Wanted to erase it all."

"Why did you hate me? You saved my life then sought me out, Sherlock," she reminded him gently.

"I didn't know how to handle it, the emotions," he answered. "I wanted to hide away, but at the same time, I wanted nothing more than to be with you again."

“You did the same to me…” she told him sternly, looking down at him. “When you pinned me to the bed… I haven’t had a flashback like that in a very long time… I very nearly shot you that night, when you were deep in your meditations…”

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you," he kissed her cheek. "I didn't know how to keep you from running, all I knew how to do was hide."

Irene smiled weakly and wrapped her arms around him. "We are a disaster together, Sherlock…”

"Yes, but would you send me away now, before I touch you?" He pulled back to study her face. "After all this time, its what we both want."

“So stop talking to me and then start touching me,” there was a smile on her face as she pulled him against her, pressing the curved of her body into his, biting down on his neck.

Sherlock jerked against her with a cry, and gripped her in his hands. He wanted her everywhere, in his mouth, in his hands, and more than anything, he wanted to be inside of her. "Please Irene, I want to..." he blushed furiously.

She silenced him with a fierce kiss as she pushed his trousers down and her hand gripped him hard.

"Ohh," he groaned against her. He buried his hands in her hair, and pulled it, used it to keep her close. He was gasping, crying against her mouth, begging for release.

She pushed him back and straddled him and she sank into him slowly, her eyes boring down to him.

He lost his words, or his mind, he wasn't sure. It was like being swallowed by fire, and all he could do was beg. He couldn't hear his own voice over the pounding of the blood in his ears. Sherlock kept his eyes locked on hers.

She leaned over him, pinning his hands. She looked almost wild, as she threw back the head of wild dark curls and rolled her hips slowly.

Sherlock could feel tears falling, but he couldn't tell if they belonged to her, or him. He was falling, drowning, and he wanted to pause time.

She rolled her hips, a steady, conscious movement… “Sherlock…” she cooed…

He nodded frantically at her, his vision blurred, and he realized the tears were his own. He dragged his hands down her back, and anchored them on her hips, like he was afraid she might escape.

She rolled her hips rhythmically, and he let himself fall into the sensations, hands gripping her tight to him. He found her clit with one finger, a desperate plea to hurry, because he couldn't hold out. She moaned and after a moment, and came hard, shaking, violently.

It was enough to pull him with her, over the edge. He spilled into her, and flipped her so she was on the bottom again. He bit at her mouth, his fingers still on her. He wanted to feel her with his fingers, feel her movements. He knew she wasn't finished, could feel her still tensed. She squirmed and clung to him until she shuddered and came hard. He looked at her with wide eyes, trying to catch his breath. He gripped her arms and kissed her desperately. She kissed hungrily, shaking as she came down from that high.

"Was that- ok?" he asked hesitantly. "Oh Irene." He buried his face into the juncture of her throat and shoulder, sobbing.

"Darling... Sherlock..." She said softly. "Are you okay?" She asked softly. Sherlock shook his head, unable to form words, and she petted his hair, cooing his name gently, drawing him down into her arms. She curled with him and tried to soothe, tried to calm him.

It took him some time to calm down, to let his breathing settle and stop shaking. "I'm sorry, that was... intense."

Irene nodded. "I feel it too..." she said quietly and looked up at him. "Are you okay?"

"No," he shook his head. "I don't think I have been okay since you left London."

"I had to leave London... I did terrible things whilst there... You know that..." She said softly and looked away, unable to meet his eyes.

"I know," he nodded. "I didn't know how much it affected me. And then it hurt. It hurt like nothing I have ever felt. I had to be numb, so I couldn't feel."

"I know many who would say that keeping it all in is bad for you," Irene said gently.

"I still had to do what I do every day, and I didn't know how else to keep doing that," he responded. "Even John knew something was wrong. But I didn't know how to tell him. It seemed so silly. People learn to deal with a broken heart as children."

"You’re lucky... You still have that kind of rock to hold on too," Irene said softly. "I wish I did.

"I've been lying to him for a long time," Sherlock said quietly. "I don't even know how much he trusts me anymore. I don't know how to begin to tell him. He believes that you have been dead. And I don't want him to start prying for information. He's tenacious, he won't give up until he figures it out."

"Sherlock," she caught his face in her hands. "I've seen what friendship you two have... You must tell him... I think he will help you... You cannot stay here, not with Michel and other people who want to hurt me..."

"I can take care of myself," he argued. "But I'm not going until I know that you are safe."

She rolled her eyes. "Are you always this stubborn?" She asked sharply. "Or am I just lucky?"

"Stubborn?" Sherlock's temper flared. "I'm trying to keep you safe, get your girls to England, kill you brother. And you call me stubborn!"

"Yes, I do call you stubborn because believe it or not, I was doing very well before you came blundering in."

"Blundering in?" Sherlock yelled. "You were being tracked by that madman. Your girls are getting killed. All I want is to kill him, and then I will bloody well leave."

"What's to say I haven't paid someone else to get rid of him?" She asked in that annoying, too calm voice.

"Then you wasted your money, and they are incompetent. I'm not leaving while he breathes."

She silenced him with a kiss, raw and hot and shoved him back into the bed. Her fingers splayed on his chest, and dug. "Careful, Sherlock..."

"Careful for what? My heart? The minute I discovered I had one was when it broke."

"At least you have a heart," she replied softly.

"I found it and lost it all in one," Sherlock kissed her again, grinding up against her.

"No you haven't," she met him, grind for grind and licked a trail over his lips. " You would not be here..."

Sherlock winced at the truth of her words. "Maybe I came to find it again," he tugged her down for another kiss.

"How is that working out for you?" She asked between sweet kisses.

"Mmmm, I'm enjoying it," he sighed. "You taste so good. Can I keep you?"

She stiffened a little under him and instead of replying, rolled over and pulled him on top of her and pulled him into a slow, scorching kiss.

"You're addictive, the more I have of you, the more I want," he kissed her thoroughly and licked his way down her neck. He found the hollow of her throat with his tongue and lapped at it. Irene smiled and her head tilted back. She sighed and it was a happy sound, as her arms wrapped around him. He lapped his way down her torso, stopping to roll each nipple between his fingers and trace her rib cage with his mouth, and she responded with delight, as every touch sent shards of pleasure running through her in a way that she was unused too. 

"You can’t be ready for round two already..." She said, between gasps.

"Not yet," Sherlock laughed. "But that doesn't mean I can't enjoy touching you." He traced her belly button with his tongue, and licked down her pelvis. A nip at the crease where her thigh and hip met, and he buried his face in the soft curls.

The nip made made her gasp and her legs parted on instinct and she a giggled. She giggled until she gasped when she felt that tongue over her already sensitive sex. Sherlock moaned and sucked her clit into his mouth. She still tasted of them, and he sucked the flavour off of her greedily. She groaned and one arm flopped across her face. Her breaths came in ragged gasps as she squirmed.

Sherlock took his time, lapping at her and enjoying the flavor . She was nothing like the rough woman who belittled him. She was warm and responsive, even eager. She squirmed, responsive and actually finding herself enjoying his attentions, which told her that she was in very great danger... But for this time, she was content to enjoy it.

Sherlock hummed, dipping his tongue into her. She was languid, stretching out like a cat. He mouthed at the soft curls, tugging at them as he slid a finger into her. Once again, he gave her an orgasm and afterward, she slid down him to get him off and after, she lay curled up with him.

Sherlock spooned against her, his arms tight around her. He had to make an effort to keep his mind there, not to drift off into his mind palace to catalog the responses, and avoid the emotions that threatened. He kissed the back of her neck, inhaling the scent of her hair, and ran his hands over the curves of her body.

Irene sighed, wide awake and miles away, plotting her escape already, plotting to run away from him, from the feelings again... "Can I keep you?" She asked suddenly, quiet and wanting something that she could never have.

"If you would, I would say yes," Sherlock could feel her fretting. "You can always come to London, after this is over. Come and visit."

"I am wanted there... If they knew I was alive, your brother would have you arrest me..."

"My brother does NOT have me that well trained, I assure you," Sherlock laughed. "And I remember you being a master of disguise, have you lost your touch?"

She chuckled softly at that and rolled to look at him. They had talked most of the night. "'Are we to sleep?" She asked him primly.

"I don't know, will you be gone when I wake up?" Sherlock asked. "If so, I'd rather stay awake."

"I should go..." She sighed and pressed her face into his neck. "Sherlock, no good can come of this..." She sighed.

"Just for tonight?" He pleaded softly, holding on to her. "Tomorrow will be here too soon."

She didn't reply, just pressed into him warmly. That was the only comfort that she could give right now.

Sherlock felt her relax into sleep, and he gave himself the tiny pleasure of watching her, the soft rise and fall of her breasts. The way she smiled in sleep as she reached for him; he realized leaving was going to be a painful separation.

The Woman did not stir, not until late the next morning. She sat up slowly, frowning. Sherlock had woken before her, and was watching her. He took a lock of her hair and curled it around his finger, and leaned in to kiss her good morning.

"Hello, you..." She purred... Then seemed to wake. "You're here!"

"I told you I would be," Sherlock kept his arms tight around her.

"Part of me thought you would be gone," she confessed softly, closing her eyes and allowing relief to move through her. She pushed back into him and sighed happily.

"And miss this?" He kissed the back of her neck. "I know the longer I stay, the more it will hurt. But I can't make myself go." He slid a hand down her hip to tease at the juncture of her thigh.

She caught his hand, and guided it up and around her. “Then you’re an idiot, Mr. Holmes,” she said and ground her pelvis back against him, hard. “But I am very glad you are here…”

"Ahhh, so am I," he pressed against her, so hard he ached. "God... are you supposed to feel so good? I can't get enough of you." He pulled the hair away from her neck and bit at the juncture of her shoulder.

She hissed and writhed under his teeth. “Are you always such a tease?” she purred in response, grinding hard. “I should thank your teacher, you know. She taught you well….”

"She is an expert," Sherlock laughed. "How do you like to be pleased in the morning, Miss Adler?"

She rolled on to her back and looked up at him with sleepy eyes, blinking. "Hmm... Impress me..."

"Impress you? Hmmm," Sherlock laid on top of her gently and kissed her. He was careful not to rest his weight on her, but ground against her, enough to get himself fully hard. "Do you have any rope?"

She arched an eyebrow. "Why?"

"I've been learning Shibari, and you told me to impress you," Sherlock reminded.

"You want me to let you at me with rope...?" She said incredulously


	3. Chapter 3

"I'm not advanced enough to tie myself. And I do need practice, and you're something of an expert."

She paused and looked at him. "Come with me," she said, slipping out of the bed. If she was going to agree to him, it would be in her domain. They went up, through the school, through her office and through a door at the back.

Inside was an opulent room, decorated and rich. Hanging on racks on the wall was every kind of instrument that a dominant could want. She sat at the end of the large bed and nodded. "Rope. Third drawer down. Safety is fourth."

Sherlock pulled out several lengths of soft jute and knelt on the bed. He patted for her to sit in front of him, and kissed a line down the knobs of her spine. He started with a simple anchor point below her ribs, and then wound it between her breasts, mouthing softly at her skin the whole time. He traced a path for the rope to follow with his tongue.

Irene did as he asked, quiet and thoughtful as he worked, her senses following his touch. "Sherlock, stop," she commanded quietly. " You are tying someone up who you know to have issues - if I were to panic, I could seriously hurt myself. Always keep safety scissors in reach."

"Yes, Miss Adler," Sherlock agreed. "Good to know. Anything else I should watch for?"

"Ropes are a little tight - ow - yep. You found it... Loosen it a little... That's better. Continue... And for god sakes, do not stop talking." 

Sherlock tried to take the criticism without letting it throw him. He wrapped her arms in a dragonfly pattern behind her, and kept up a soft litany of explaining the steps to remind himself, and complementing her.

She was stiff as he pulled the ropes behind her back, feeling the quickened heartbeats of panic. She breathed... Slowly. "Sherlock..." She groaned, needing to see him, be held by him.

"Irene?" Sherlock saw her face and frowned. "Shall I untie you?"

"It's okay..." She offered him a shaky smile. " Just keep talking... I've never let anyone do this before..."

"I took a workshop in London," Sherlock admitted with a blush. "We had to try it from both sides. It was... interesting. It's a lot of responsibility, being on this end. I guess I don't understand why some people see it as a way to exploit power. There are so many things to remember. But I suppose it gets easier." He wrapped her in his arms and ran his hands down her hips.

She shivered a little and smiled at him. "What else did you try?"

"Some different leather tools. Floggers, paddles, whips. I found out I don't enjoy being on the giving end of pain."

“Depends on what you describe as pain. Not all BDSM has to be painful. I like giving pain – I like the control that it affords me, as well as the trust, but I know tops who never give pain unless it’s a punishment, they tie people up for their pleasure as well as their subs,” Irene said thoughtfully as she squirmed, testing the bonds.

"I didn't like using a whip on someone," Sherlock said quietly. "As much as I love the feeling on my skin." He bent over her shoulder to capture her mouth and kiss her, a hungry moan escaping his lips.

She kissed back, working to free her arms, then scowling as she failed at it, She sighed with a huff as she broke the kiss. “Are you just going to have me sit here, tied up?” she asked, almost amused.

"Not exactly," Sherlock laid her down with a kiss and worked his way down her body, mouthing at her skin, biting gently at the skin of her thighs. 

She snarled and they parted, her head fell back a little. “Don’t forget that I will get you back,” she warned softly, her voice almost sing song…

"Forget? I'm anticipating it," Sherlock smiled. He teased down her thighs with kisses, avoiding any areas that would really get her turned on. "Are you going to beg?"

She rested her head back, her eyes closing. “From you? You have to earn my begging, Sherlock… you haven’t impressed me yet…”

"What would it take to impress you, Miss Adler?" Sherlock slid up to tease her with a kiss.

“You're not ready to rig yet, Sherlock…” she teased with a hum.

"OH. No," Sherlock shook his head with a frown. "I haven't even been on the experiencing end of that. And to be honest, I can see the aesthetic beauty of it. But the point of this for me has been to turn off my brain."

"Learning to tie knots, learning to bind someone without hurting them," she inclined her head. "I can see that, yes. Maybe if you're lucky, I'll hang you upside down and spend an afternoon sticking things in your ass..." She was provoking now.

Sherlock blushed several progressively darker shades of red and ducked his head. "I think I'm not keeping you occupied if you can still say that," he bent to tease at her nipple.

Irene moaned, a needy sound. She felt herself unwinding at that tease, felt herself slowing into something a lot more malleable and soft, and arched into him.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered in her ear. "Do you want me to make you come, _Miss Adler_?

"Yesssss..." She pushed against him, wanting his touch, his anything, needing more.

"Yes? How would you like to come?" Sherlock teased. He ran his hands over her arms, massaging her wrists and checking the rope tension. He sat up and pulled her back against him.

She leaned against him, arching so she could rub a palm over the erection. "You're in my play room, Sherlock. It's up to you to get creative..." And she was already plotting her revenge.

"Alright," Sherlock went to the drawer, and chose a blindfold. He tied it around her eyes, and then went back to the drawers.

She squirmed, her lips parting. Panic flooded her for a moment. Crap, she should not have let him. "Sherlock..." Her words were a moan, needing the reassurance.

"Here I am," Sherlock touched her arm for reassurance. "Lay on your back for me." He dragged his nails down her thighs.

She snarled at the nails and squirmed. Backwards, she lay, twisting to get comfortable.

Sherlock dragged the handle of the riding crop over her belly. He gave her enough contact to identify it, and then paused. He knew she would be anticipating pain, so he used the suede flogger to brush her nipples, just a light pass that left gooseflesh behind it.

She tensed as she felt the crop. Her favourite weapon, that had brought countless men to their knees. The flogger, however, made her jump, her mouth opening into a light gasp... And then a savage grin. "Clever little bastard..."

"Roll over," Sherlock's voice was gone rough.

She grumbled at the command and managed to after a moment's struggle.

Sherlock teased the flogger down her thighs... Following it with his tongue. "You look lovely... Irene." By the time she was fretting against him, he cut through the ropes, and spooned against her, his arms wrapped to keep her still. He switched to hard nips on her pale skin, contrasted by the teasing of the pads of his fingers.

Irene groaned and hated herself a little for how eagerly she responded to him. He drew a series of sharp cries from her, the way that she gripped at him showed her unease and the confusion and that she felt, because her body betrayed her and she could not keep still.

He kept himself pressed against her, their skin touching in as many places as it could. He kept to slow movements, just a little less than the urgency than she needed.

She growled and elbowed him harshly. "You tease and then you don't give in to it!" She accused.

"I was being nice and giving your arms a rest, but I can certainly tie you again," Sherlock gave her an amused chuckle. He tugged at her pubic hairs, and bit down on her earlobe.

She squeaked at the tug on her pubic hairs and narrowed her eyes, and squirmed, rolling over and hooking a leg over him, straddling him.

"Bit eager are we?" Sherlock chuckled. "Are you frustrated yet... Irene?" He made her name into a predatory growl.

“Silence, Sherlock,” the words were laced in that sensual threat, as she was standing up. “You want a lesson in rope? I will show you what to do with rope. Up. Hands behind your back,” she said, striding across the room.

Yes, Miss Adler," Sherlock shivered. He stood and grasped his wrists behind his back.

She pulled him so that his arms were behind his back, gripping his forearms. The second length went between his teeth and then was secured up, above his head. The third went between his thighs, securing them together.

Sherlock closed his eyes and let the sensations take him. His brain was blessedly quiet.

"So pretty, strung up up for me like that..." She whispered, circling like a predator. Her nails strung across his lower back.

Sherlock let himself drift... the peaceful silence. The rake of her nails made him sob, and the odd press of the ropes holding him made for goose flesh.

"What was that, pet?" She cooed as she dragged her nails again. "I didn't catch it..."

"Nothing, Miss Adler," his voice sounded oddly calm to his own ears. "Just enjoying the quiet."

She smiled and pulled the rope that was between his jaws. It pulled him up into his tip toes. "Maybe I should make you scream for me..."

"As you wish, Miss Adler," his eyes were closed. He could smell her, the sweat from their joining.

She paused and then turned, going to one of the drawers, and pulled out a bag of pegs.

Sherlock was drifting into sub space, unaware. Until the first peg grabbed his skin.

Irene worked swiftly, creating a line of pegs and the string that ran below them. They pinched his nipple, down over his abdomen until the last one went on his testicle.

The last clip was the pain that became too much to tune out. Sherlock found himself panting... Trying to breathe through the sharp pain.

She mimicked the line on the other side and then knelt down in front of him. Her tongue trailed over the length of his cock, before she slowly took it into her mouth.

Sherlock jerked, but the pain of the clips and her mouth, it was a combination that kept him aroused, but too distracted to come.

"Hurts doesn't it?" She hummed and flicked the peg off one testicle.

"YES!" Sherlock grunted through the pain, doing his best not to flinch.

“How bad do you want them off?” she hummed.

"Only if...." he gasped... "you want, Miss Adler." He arched his back, panting to get through the pain.

“Sherlock,” she rose and her hands reached out and cupped his bound face in her hands. “Look at me…” she commanded, her words soft. She stroked his hair, an effort to ground him, just touching gently.

Sherlock struggled to focus his eyes, mewling into her touch. He sighed shakily, goosebumps trailing down his arms.

Her forehead pressed against his as she stroked, petted and calmed him slowly, touching... Loving in a way that she could not express with words.

"Irene," Sherlock breathed, shivering in her arms. He reached to give her a tentative kiss and curled into her shoulder. The warmth of her skin was soothing after the drop from the adrenaline.

She smiled warmly and kissed his shoulder. “I am right here, sweetie…” she said gently. “What do you need?”

"You," he whispered. "I just need to be held." He was shivering violently, on the verge of tears. He hid his face in her hair, and pulled the blankets around him. He tried to rationalize this, tell himself what the chemicals were that his brain was producing. But it was no use. It was falling off a cliff, and hoping beyond hope that she was there to catch him.

She cut him down and then tugged him to the bed, carefully pulling the pegs off, trying not to hurt him, as she carefully pulled him onto the bed, and wrapped him in her arms. “Talk to me… You did not safe word…” 

"Didn't feel like I needed to," Sherlock shook his head, voice fuzzy. "Then I got cold and it was too late."

"It's okay... I have you..." She rocked him back and forth.

Sherlock curled up on her lap, sniffling. He let himself relax, and forced thoughts of after out of his mind.

She stayed with him the whole time, gently soothing and petting, working to calm him to the best of her abilities. “There…” she said softly after a time. “Better?”

Sherlock didn't answer, fast asleep. He had his arms around her neck like a child, seeking comfort after a nightmare.

She wasn't used to this. She wasn't used to people wanting her... Well, that wasn't strictly true. She was used to that... But she wasn't used to people really wanting her, and her wanting them back. She sighed and shifted to get comfortable.

Sherlock murmured something that sounded like "I love you", and curled up around her.

Irene froze and if Sherlock could have seen her face... She was horrified. Slowly... Very slowly, she slipped out of the bed and she dressed. It was early evening and The Woman needed to escape. She slipped out, past her secretary, telling her that she would be back in a few hours. Sherlock would wake up alone. She vanished into the streets of the city, melding in.

Sherlock woke after midnight, disoriented. He could still smell her, and with his eyes closed, he reached for her. But the rest of the bed was cold. He dressed quickly, but couldn't find her anywhere in the house.

"Madame Adler went out," said a young woman, the receptionist who organised for her.

"Did she take someone with her?" Sherlock asked, alarmed.

"The security staff went with her," said the young woman. "They will tail her."

Sherlock sighed in relief. "Thank you. I will just sit outside and get some air." He sat outside on the steps of the building and took out his package of cigarettes. He gave up trying to light one, unable to steady his trembling hands.

“Sir?” It was one of the staff, a young man who came and sat down with Sherlock. “Is all… well?” He helped him light up.

"I'm just... worried," Sherlock admitted. "Do you know much about the man who has been hanging around bothering Miss Adler?"

“Madame is used to dealing with men and women who think that they can take advantage of her ad her girls… she has earned respect here…”

"What about someone who doesn't look like they belong here, someone who looks like Madame or I?"

“There was a man… asking in the market…” he said slowly, hesitatingly.

"What did he want to know? It's important, think!" Sherlock urged.

" Just who she was... She is well known around here... There was someone asking for you, too... Said he was your friend..."

"My friend?" Sherlock whirled to face him. "What did he look like?"

"Blonde... Short... Big nose..." He said thoughtfully.

"Bloody fucking really?" Sherlock swore. "Did he say where I could find him?"

The man frowned and nodded. He had to write down the address and the English was poor, but understandable.

"Tell Miss Adler this address when she returns," Sherlock instructed. He made his way to the hotel and knocked on John's door.

John opened the door after a moment and the relief that crossed his face when he realised who it was.

"What, John? Why are you here?" Sherlock entered and slammed the door behind him in frustration.

"Because I was worried about you, Sherlock. You could have told me it was Irene Adler... How is she even alive?"

"It's none of your business! Go back to London, and go back to your tea and forget what you saw here."

"I can't. I saw what she did last time to you," John protested, gently. He was watching Sherlock with a worried gaze.

"What goes on between Irene and I is none of your business," Sherlock sighed. "I know exactly what the offer on the table includes. It just these damn emotions getting in the way that make it difficult. I'm not used to dealing with them."

John froze at that admission... And then slowly exhaled. "You're in love with her..." It wasn't a question, a simple statement of fact.

"It doesn't matter, I'll be back in London in a couple of weeks. You can tell Mycroft that the children are not sex slaves, they are being sent to have a better life in Europe. Just let me do this John, please?"

"Answer the question, Sherlock."

"Yes of course I'm bloody in love with her, are you happy? I saw her on every street corner at home, every brunette woman with her head turned. I don't know what to do and I don't know how to keep her, and all I want to do is be near her. And I know its not going to work. So can I just save her life again and come home before it all goes to shit?"

"Have you asked her if she likes you?" John asked gently, after he had thought it through.

"She has a life here John, she is doing something important. I'm just another man in her bed."

John looked at him, recognising the lines of worry and stress in him. "Would you like a cup of tea?" It was typically British.

"One of these days I'm going to be bleeding out on the floor and you'll make tea before you stitch me up," Sherlock cracked a weary smile. "Have you run into any other Brits here? Irene has a nasty step brother who is out to get her."

"At least you will know I care," he said and went through the tea making routine. When they sat together, he shook his head. "Out to get her?"

"They have some bad blood going back years. He needs to disappear. He is killing the workers at the house and Irene is his real target. I need to make sure he is dead, and then I can leave."

"Can you leave though?" There was a knock at the door.

"I have to, John," Sherlock motioned to the door. "As nice as this is, I don't belong here. No fairy tale endings."

John opened the door and Irene was there, standing tall. Her gaze was hard, her eyes cool as she surveyed the two. “Ah, John. Welcome to Bangkok,” she purred. “Come to steal Sherlock from me?”

Sherlock sighed, a part of him wishing that she wanted to keep him. "I told John I'll be back in London soon, this was completely uncalled for. Maybe you can explain to him about the children arriving in England? Give him a clearer picture to report back to Mycroft."

Irene looked at Sherlock. Her gaze betrayed nothing. “I think it would be better if you were to explain it.”

“How are you even alive?” John asked incredulously. 

"I did somewhat. John seems to have the impression I should confess my undying affection for you and ask if you reciprocate. She's alive because I saved her." He gave John a long suffering sigh.

John rolled his eyes at the pair of them. “Like I said. Hamish,” he stood and left the room, leaving them to talk.

Irene turned to him. “He is right… you should go back.” 

Sherlock swore under his breath. "Sure, let me just go back with him suggesting baby names, and you with a killer after you! That sounds like such a wise idea."

She rolled her eyes. "I have people looking for him, Sherlock. He will be dealt with..."

"And I'm your extra insurance that it goes smoothly," Sherlock insisted firmly.

"So, how was Rome, Miss Adler?" John questioned. "He hasn't been the same since."

"Rome was a roller coaster and Sherlock had sex," she said with a snug grin.

John choked on his tea and dropped the mug. "I'm sorry, what?"

Irene turned her gaze to Sherlock and slowly stood. "Well, I had to see if he was everything I thought he would be..."

"Was I?" Sherlock asked, hesitantly. He was afraid of the answer, but it was better than not knowing.

"Pretty bloody close. John, keep him with you and from getting himself killed..."

"What didn't I do? What was missing?" Sherlock pressed the point, determined to know what he could have changed. Had he been better, in his mind, she would have stayed.

"Confidence and experience, my dear..." She said wistfully. "But you were pretty good. Are you staying here, Sherlock? You probably should," she said dismissively.

"Will you get over the idea of leaving me here?" Sherlock was frustrated and tried to stay calm. "My things are at the house anyway. And I told you, when Michael is dead, I will go."

She bristled and her expression was cold. "Let me tell you this then, Sherlock Holmes. I don't want you anywhere near me, or the girls. I want you gone and I will have your stuff brought here. Stay away from me and my girls or I will have you shot."

Sherlock's eyes widened in shock. He couldn't think of a response, speechless for the first time in years.

"You need to leave, Miss Adler," John stepped in. "I don't know why you treat him as badly as you do, but I won't stand and watch. You should at least be grateful someone cares, because I sure as hell don't. He should have let you die the first time."

Irene looked at them both hard. 

"I treat him exactly as he wants to be treated... as he said, he is just another man in my bed, and he doesn't even pay," she rose.

"You know, I don't hit women. But you make me want to break that rule. GO. I don't know why you need to treat someone who is in love with you so badly, but you don't deserve him." John was so angry he had his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

With her head held high, she left. She knew Sherlock was too attached, but she hadn’t expected that… Still, it was necessary, what with Michael around.

Sherlock curled up on a chair and shut down. He didn't say anything, just pulled his coat closer around himself and stayed quiet.

John came and sat beside him. He didn’t speak… he just waited. Waited until Sherlock spoke, or didn’t speak. He let his presence stand for something.

"I guess we should book flights home," Sherlock said finally. He couldn't bear it if John started to talk about how he felt again, and all he wanted to do was run until it stopped hurting.

"I will do it..." He said quietly. He was furious, fuming with a deep seated anger.

"Probably easier this way," Sherlock said quietly. "Won't hurt as much as Rome."

"What happened then?" He asked softly.

"I woke up and she was gone," Sherlock felt far away, looking down on himself waking up in that empty room alone. "And I came back to London."

"Did you know she was going to go?" He asked gently.

"Yes, I went into my mind palace so I didn't have to watch."


	4. Chapter 4

John nodded. "You need a drink," he went to the minibar and came back with two glasses.

Sherlock swallowed it down without a word and grimaced. The burn of the alcohol gave him an excuse for the sudden tears in his eyes. He wordlessly held out his glass to John for another.

John downed his and then filled them both back up. He sat down. "Tell me about her," it wasn't pity, just opening the grounds so he could talk.

"She..." Sherlock tilted the glass and stared at the amber liquid inside. "She was like every fantasy I had as a boy, and then I did the unthinkable, go and fall for her. She is beautiful, and smart, she cried when I kissed her. She did what she had to do to distance herself. I'm afraid this is the part of it I don't like very much."

" What is the brother like?" John said, trying to fit the bits together. "Just walk me through everything that's happened," because intuition was telling him that he had missed something.

"He abused her badly as a child. And suddenly he has turned up here, Iooking for her. In England, from what I gather, he's a lawyer. One of the woman was killed yesterday, and she's fairly sure it was him."

"Do you think we should go look at this body?" John met Sherlock's eyes and there was a glimmer in his gaze. Amusement and understanding. "Because something about the way that she just dumped you... It doesn't ring right to me."

"I saw it... Let me think." He folded his arms and started listing off the details that has struck him as odd.  
"Do you..." He blushed suddenly.

"Do I...?" He asked.

"Do you think maybe she didn't mean that?" Sherlock looked suddenly so hopeful it was heart breaking, raw.

"I think she likes you... Maybe even loves you..." John said after a moment. "But I think that she is bad for you, Sherlock. Can you read her?"

"No," Sherlock shook his head. "I never could. Not even the first day I met her. She doesn't love me John, don't say that, please?"

"I don't know..." He said gently. "But I'm not an expert..."

"You know more than me!" Sherlock protested. "I've got nothing to compare her to. I read some nonsense that you always love your first. I'm starting to understand why people commit murder for love."

"Most people don't know their ass from there elbow. Be grateful that you had a good experience. She may be mad if you kill for her. Let me take you home?"

"Something is wrong about this Michael though," Sherlock frowned. "She thought nothing of blackmailing the royal family, but she is scared of him. Do you have your laptop? Let's see what we can find on him back in London."

John handed him the laptop, and Sherlock wasted no time logging into Scotland Yard with the credentials he had stolen from Lestrade. Ten minutes later there was a large file opened on Michael Barris, including person of interest in several unsolved disappearances and homicides of young women.

"Rape... Indecent assault... Yet he was married... Had a wife who divorced him suddenly...'

"He's worse than she even said, and the officials here are easily bribed. Call Lestrade and ask if he has connections here?"

John did that and soon came back into the room. "He is representing one of the local crime lords... Someone who is probably aware of who Madame Adler is..."he slapped something down in front of Sherlock. An address.

"So we go see?" Sherlock asked. "Even if she doesn't want us to?"

"I think we should pay a visit, don't you?" John moved his jacket aside, he was armed.

"You got through customs- never mind. Of course. My brother," Sherlock's train of thought verbalized. "Let's go."

John smiled shamelessly. He would never admit it, but both Lestrade and Mycroft used him when they needed to keep an eye on Sherlock Holmes. "Lead the way... No clue how to navigate this place..."

"It's fairly simple, the cab drivers speak English," Sherlock informed. "And the food is very good. Just point when you want something, they are very polite. And smile. As long as you are nice to them, they are wonderful. I'm learning some basic phrases from the children."

John came to a stop. "You and... Children?" He asked incredulously

"Yes?" Sherlock looked at him puzzled. "They have none of the stupid conventional social hangups that prevent adults from speaking their mind, and the same intelligence, until it is trained out of them through thoughtless rules. I have been playing the violin and learning piano with them."

That surprised John and it showed in his face. Sherlock rarely shocked him these days, but once in awhile… “If you say so… come on then, lead the way…” he said, and shooed Sherlock forwards so they could go talk to someone who was a child abuser.

Sherlock bought fruit from a vendor and then hailed a cab. He gave the driver the address and thanked him in some basic Thai. The ride was short, and he ushered John into the foyer of a dark apartment building. The lights were burned out, and he could hear yelling from one of the apartments.

“Nice place,” John said wryly as he pushed forward, wrinkling his nose. “Which apartment?” he asked, drawing the gun. 

"337, and I don't suggest elevators," Sherlock wrinkled his nose and kicked at a dirty diaper on the stairs.

They went to the door, and John knocked… there was no answer. John paused… and then kicked the door in.

John stepped in and cursed.

On the walls, were photos of Irene. From a young girl to distant photographs taken less than a week ago. There was articles, print outs from her website… Even reports of her death.

"Oh no," Sherlock shook his head. "We need to find her, right now." He took picture of everything with his phone, and then went through the drawers. There were pieces of paper, notes scribbled in her handwriting. He had even gone through the trouble of sifting through her rubbish bins.

“I will call Lestrade… You go… I will stay here…” He said firmly. “We need this guy out of the country…”

Sherlock ran, standing in the street to flag down the first cab that roared to a stop. The traffic swirled around him, angry drivers honking their horns amidst a sea of lights that shone on the desperation on his face.

When he made it to the house, the door was open... he stepped in cautiously, John's gun that he had nicked in one hand.

“Sir? What is it?” One of the girls asked. “Miss Adler is in her room… Should I tell her you are here?”

"No," Sherlock said. "Gather the children somewhere safe." He ran up the stairs and flung the door open.

She was in the bathroom, in the bathtub and the gun was pointed at his head as she came in. Her face was hard. Cold.

"You need to listen to me!" He was out of breath. "There's something you need to know."

"I told you to keep away from me," she said icily.

"He has pictures, from when you were a girl, until now. Pictures of you here."

Irene froze and what little colour there was drained from her face. Her hand began to shake.

"Please Irene, let me at least protect you and the children," Sherlock asked. "I will keep my distance and be strictly professional. You should thank John, he was the one that called Lestrade to dig deeper on Michael. His apartment is empty."

The gun dropped from her hand and Irene sank back into the bubbles with a small, distressed moan.

"No, no," Sherlock handed her a towel. "Please don't cry. I won't let something happen to you." He laid the two loaded guns on the bathroom counter and wrapped her in his arms, mindless of the Belstaff coat getting soaked.

She pushed back from him, and turned away... But the marks were on her body. She had been well covered when she has come to the hotel. Bruises bloomed over her shoulders, around her wrists. One side of her ribs... One that looked suspiciously like a footprint. "Just go away..."

Sherlock keened, a horrified sound that sounded like a wounded animal. "I was too late."

"Just go away, Sherlock..." She snapped, and rose. Still graceful, as she stepped out the tub. "Go back to your detective games..."

Sherlock winced at the bruises on her back, more footprints across the ribs, like a man in large boots had stomped over her. There were finger marks on her shoulders, and a print of a fist on her kidney.

She slipped the robe around her she headed out towards the bedroom.

Sherlock followed her, a gun in each hand. The hem of the wet Belstaff slapped against his thighs, and the woman who had answered the door stared at him wide eyed as he followed Irene into her room.

"Would you just _fuck off_?" She rounded on him, furious. "Go away, Sherlock. Please?" 

"I can't, Irene," he shivered. "Not until I KNOW he is dead."

"You've done enough," she snarled.

"He threatened you, didn't he? He threatened to hurt me."

She sat down miserably and winced as she did. She nodded slowly... Numb.

"What did he say?" Sherlock whispered, throat tight. "Tell me what he did, because the same is going to happen to him."

She shook her head. "Can I come and stay with you and John... Please?"

"Of course," Sherlock studied her drawn face and anxiously moving hands. "I will tell Lestrade that the house needs a constant police guard. We aren't going to allow any other women to be hurt, and the children will be protected if I have to do it myself." He turned to let her dress without the intrusion of his eyes one her. When she came and stood quietly beside him, he wrapped her in the coat and sheltered her trembling frame against his body.

A quick cab ride and they were back at John's hotel room, where he opened the door with a rather bemused expression on his face.

"What... What's happening?" John asked, clearly confused. Irene dId not answer, her gaze was averted as she leant against Sherlock.

"I need you to get your medical kit, we can talk later," Sherlock was brusque. He settled Irene on the bed and unwrapped the coat she had clutched in her hands.

"I don't want medical attention," she snapped, snatching the coat closed. Her fingers ran through her hair, and she hissed as they got tangled.

"Let him look, please?" Sherlock asked. "I want to make sure your ribs don't need to be taped. And let's get some paracetamol in you."

John came back with a first aid kit and waved Sherlock aside. " What am I dealing with?" He asked quietly.

"Bruised ribs at the least, maybe kidney bruising as well. A bunch of topical bruising , and some footprints and scratches," Sherlock checked both guns to make sure they were loaded.

"He did this to her?" He asked softly, looking at Sherlock with horror.

"She won't say, I think so," Sherlock shivered as the bruises were exposed, gone darker and uglier in the few minutes they had been covered. "I messaged Lestrade, asked for round the clock protection for the house."

"I'm ready..." Irene called out to them. She had her front covered in a sheet, sitting awkwardly.

John sucked in his breath with a grimace, the boot print was vivid against her pale skin. He wordlessly handed her a few paracetamol and a glass of whisky to chase it down with.

"Do you need stitches anywhere?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"I don't think so," she said, leaning into Sherlock. She looked miserable, almost depressed.

John touched the bruise over her kidneys gently. "Make sure you drink plenty of water, this is going to feel ugly for quite awhile. Sherlock go check outside?" He bent closer after he left. "Is there anywhere else?"

She nodded slowly. "I'll be okay..."

John swore, his normally calm face etched with pain. "Any bleeding I need to check? I can give you something for disinfecting, at least."

"I... There was blood... I don't know if it was me washing..."

"Do you want me to take a look, or I can bring you to a women's clinic?" John kept in her sight and moved slowly. "What would make you feel safer?"

She shook her head. "Sherlock trusts you... It means I can and I need to keep something of my reputation. What do you need me to do?"

"Get undressed for me?" John washed his hands and was quick and professional. "You'll be sore, but nothing that needs medicine. I'm sorry, I know that's no one's favorite. And under this amount of stress..." He shook his head and frowned. "I'm sorry, what I said before. They threatened you with him, didn't they?"

Irene nodded as she rewrapped herself. None of the damage was permanent, and already she was shutting it away, making plans for self preservation. "Yes. I am okay though. I've handled worse."

"I know, Irene, when I got shot, it hit me afterwards," John handed her a cup of tea. "Its going to come and go, but don't give up. And Sherlock... he really does care about you. It wouldn't be the worst thing, if you let him. He saved me."

Irene smiled bitterly. "Your a practical man, Doctor Watson... We both know that he should run from me as fast as he can..."

"And being he has already tried that twice unsuccessfully... Wouldn't it the definition of insanity to repeat it? He LOVES you Irene, and be doesn't know how, or what that means. But he is the most loyal person I have ever known."

Irene smiled weakly and nodded. "I suppose he is... Let him come back in..."

John let him in from where he was pacing in the hallway. "What did Lestrade say, any news?"

Sherlock shook his head. "I wish. I don't feel like no news is good news."

"I will order some food, and you two should try to sleep, doctor's orders," John said. "The bed will fit you both."

Irene was curled up - she wore one of John's t-shirts, lose and comfortable. Her eyes closed, the woman looked young, and incredibly tired.

"Thank you," Sherlock whispered. He wrapped the blanket around her, and put his coat over it. He laid on the edge of the bed, not wanting to frighten her if she awoke with someone touching her. He didn't even have to deduce to know what had happened, the tremor in John's hand, and Irene's stoic expression were enough of a lurid clue.

"Sherlock, get in this bed and keep me warm..." Irene said after a while. " I'm... So cold..."

Sherlock spooned against her hesitantly, avoiding looking at John's knowing smile. He wrapped an arm under her so she was laying on his shoulder. He could feel her warm skin, but she was still trembling.

She could feel him there, feel him as if he had his own personal orbit. Her body responded and she knew it was her emotions trying to get out... She squashed it down and pressed her face to his shoulder. "You said you loved me..." She said softly.

"Yes, I do, and I can't seem to stop it," Sherlock squeezed her a little tighter. "We don't have to talk about it."

Irene nodded and closed her eyes. "It's nice to know..." She sounded sad.

Sherlock frowned and pulled her closer. "It shouldn't make you unhappy though."

"I don't feel like I could ever be happy again... If Michael... I was going to invite you to lunch... I wanted to show you some of the local women who are doing well... Some of the projects I had funded... I didn't want you to think that I was... Was just a whore..."

"You were never a whore to me, and you will never be just anything," Sherlock smoothed her hair. "As soon as all of this is over, you can show me what you are working on. I met Clara, Irene. I might be angry with you, angry because I'm hurt, and these emotions are all new. But I don't think of you as weak."

Irene smiled weakly and curled into his chest. “Why are you angry with me?” she asked softly.

"I don't like feelings," Sherlock said. "I have never felt this before, I think everyone knew how to handle this much earlier. It's a little embarrassing to have your first crush at my age and be depressed for a year."

"It's okay, Sherlock... You'll get over it soon enough..."

"It didn't happen in a year," he said bitterly. "I just hope it dulls."

“You should get out of this bed then…” she sounded sad at that.

"Hush," Sherlock pulled her closer. "I will worry about it when this is over, only so much energy to deal with everything at any given time."

She nodded. "You're about the only thing that is keeping me from screaming..."

"Then just hold on," he whispered. "Do you think you can eat? I know John is going to scold me."

She gripped him tight, and let out a whimper as things hurt. "I can try... everything hurts..."

"John!" Sherlock sat up and called to his friend, who was tying on his laptop. "Do you have something stronger for pain for Irene?" He rubbed the knots in her neck, wincing at the bruises surrounding her throat.

"Not without taking her to a hospital," John said gravely.

Irene shook her head. "Which won't be happening... I will be okay..."

Sherlock pulled her to lean against him and sit on his lap. "If you can send for some arnica cream, it will help with the swelling. And willow bark tea. If you know a place that has those here?"

Irene gave John the instruction. Which of the girls to send, make sure they don't go alone and such instructions.

John accepted the food delivery, and doled it out with a sharp look that everyone had to eat at least a little. 

Irene moved away from Sherlock a little as she ate, curled up. She was in John's clothes, looking as comfortable as she could, even as she picked through the food slowly. "I miss Kate..." She said suddenly.

"Do you want to call her?" Sherlock offered his phone. "It's day there now."

He shook his head. "No... She needs to be safe..."

"Mycroft isn't going to let anything happen to her and Clara," John said. "He had Lestrade post a round the clock guard."

Irene nodded and with that, she fell asleep against them, the deep deep sleep of exhaustion. She barely moved.

Sherlock met John's eyes and mouthed "Thank you" before pulling Irene down to sleep against him. John turned out the light and settled into the chair to keep watch.

Irene slept deep, and then got restless. She had never been a good sleeper. Slowly sitting up, she slid out of bed.

"Irene, what's wrong?" Sherlock asked quietly. "Did you hear something?"

"Can't sleep... Was going to find something warm to drink...'

"I'll make tea," John offered. He was sitting in the dark, but still awake. Too many years in Afghanistan had taught him to trust his instincts about danger. 

"John thinks the whole world can be solved with tea," Sherlock snorted.

"Tea would be very nice... And if there is anything stronger to go in it... It would be appreciated..." She curled into Sherlock, shivering.

John heated more tea, and put a shot of whisky in each glass once it had steeped. Sherlock had Irene wrapped in his arms, a blanket around them both. He was murmuring something into her ear in a low voice, too low for John to catch the words. But it was something significant, because Sherlock bent to brush his lips against her ear. All John caught was something about Sherlock never letting the riding crop out of his sight, and his eyes flew open.

It did, however, make her smile and she curled into him. "I will be alright, Sherlock... I - ouch... He can't break me any more..."

"No, he won't," Sherlock accepted the mugs of tea and handed her one. He brushed the hair out of her face and kissed her forehead. John fixed the pillows so Sherlock could lean against them, and handed him a tea as well.

"I should probably get out of the city... As soon as I can walk without hurting..."

"Michael will be dead before you are healed," Sherlock promised. "And then you can decide whether you want to come back to England, or continue the school here."

"I can't come back to England... Moriarty, remember? I sold him out to your brother... Not without your help, mind you..."

"I can always hope," Sherlock said wryly. "Moriarty is getting to be more of an issue." Sherlock took her empty mug and wrapped her tighter in the blankets.

"I can't think of a way to get back without getting you killed... Anyway, it's three am. Go to bed. Both of you."

"You rest, Miss Adler," John shook his head. "We have done this before, you can stop worrying. And if there is a way to get you into England safely, I'm sure Mycroft will know how to do it."

Irene didn't answer. She was already falling asleep against Sherlock but before she did, she muttered several words. "I love you too..."

Sherlock froze, wide eyed. When John threw a questioning look his way, he just shook his head and closed his eyes, trying to save the moment in his mind palace.

"You two make a good couple..." John sounded doubtful and it was easy to understand why he said it. They were very similar. Both highly intelligent, dangerous when crossed people. "Try and rest, Sherlock."

"We aren't a couple," Sherlock gritted out. "Please don't. This already hurts."

"Would you want to be?"

"More than anything," Sherlock said. "But I know i can't, so I don't indulge in that particular train of thought. It makes me want cocaine, and knives."

"Relationships take work, Sherlock. For her and you..."


	5. Chapter 5

"She has enough pressure right now," Sherlock brushed his fingers through her hair. "I just have to keep her safe."

"We will think of something..." John was trying to reassure him.

Sherlock nodded, feeling drained from the emotions. Better to wait it out instead of getting John angry when they needed him.

Irene slept until the morning light came through the Windows and she sat up slowly, blinking and frowning.

Sherlock's eyes opened immediately. He handed her two paracetamol and a glass of water and kissed her hair.

She waved them off and went to the bathroom, moving soft footed. Graceful and steady, she stepped in and closed the door. After a bit, the shower clicked on.

Sherlock sighed and couldn't meet John's eyes. He swallowed a handful of paracetamol himself and cracked his neck. He called downstairs for coffee and breakfast.

When she returned, she looked like... The Woman. The dominatrix mask was on palace, as she dressed in the clothed that she had worn here. "I need to get to the school."

Sherlock frowned and looked at John for guidance. "How are we handling this, John?"

"You really should not leave alone," John said. Irene raised an eyebrow and rolled her eyes. "I have worn to do. I will have a security detail pick me up." 

"Take Sherlock with you," John said sternly. "I'm too tired to be a competent guard right now."

"Why do I need Sherlock when I have a security crew to protect my girls?" She asked as she examined her cheeks, pinching them to get some colour in them.

"Because he got to you once, and I won't allow a second time," Sherlock donned his coat.

Irene frowned. "I can't look like I am cowering, especially not in front of the children. They expect me to be strong."

"And I promised to play music," Sherlock reminded. "Perfect reason."

She arched an eyebrow and rolled her eyes. "Fine."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and followed. "Get some rest john, and I will see you by dinner."

"Be careful... Both of you..." Warned John before waving them off.

Sherlock left a pistol with John, and pocketed the other. He sheltered Irene as they caught a cab and returned to the school.

She leant against him in the cab, and in that moment, her guard was down. Pain flickered on her face, in her eyes. She whimpered. The moment that they were at the school however, she was hard, solid.

Sherlock steadied her with a hand on her lower back. He took her keys and opened the door, and then peered in to be sure it was safe to let her in.

"For goodness sake, Sherlock," she pushed past him, into the crowded corridors. Her appearance caused a stir amongst the children.

Sherlock smiled at the children, and nodded when they asked about music. "I will play with you in a bit, just let me finish settling in Miss Irene. Did you practice?"

"Yes, Mr. Holmes," they chimed, cheerfully.

He settled Irene into her office, and wrapped her in his coat. "I'll be right downstairs, all you need to do is call. And do call."

Irene caught his hand. For a moment, her eyes were wide and searching, blinking. Her lips parted. "Tell me again... What you said..." She asked breathlessly.

Comprehension lit up Sherlock's eyes. "I love you," he whispered tenderly in her ear. Several of the children clapped when he kissed her softly, hands framing her face.

Sherlock had the pleasure of seeing Irene blush, and for the woman who had first introduced herself in the nude... It was worth the wait.

"Now, I have a date," he said loudly, "With several of your students who ASSURE me they have practiced their piano and will accompany me. Mustn't keep them waiting." He winked at her and kissed her hand.

That made the woman smile. “And I had a date with the accounts and then my advanced English class,” she said. “Go… come and find me later…” and there was a smile on her face as he left, something warm and secretive.

Sherlock and the children made a thorough racket of noise in the parlour for the first period of classes. He sat in on their music theory after, and then fetched a tray of tea from the kitchen and stole quietly up to Irene's room.

She was in her office, and was downing painkillers when he entered. "Sherlock..." She greeted quietly. "Are you well?"

"Yes, I thought you might like some tea," he frowned at the painkillers and bent to brush her forehead in a comforting kiss. "Can I do anything to help? Rub your neck?"

She hummed her consent to this plan, her head stretching forwards. It creaked violently, and the sounded painful. The emergence of Michael in her life was something that she could never have anticipated… and it was hurting her. It was obvious. “I can’t concentrate…” she muttered, rubbing her temples.

Sherlock smoothed his fingers over the knots in her muscles, and found one that made her shiver.  
"Is there anything I can do?" He asked softly. He found the veins in her temples with his thumbs and rubbed at the pounding.

"Not unless you can turn back time, kill Michael when I was a child, not save me from the terrorists... There isn't much you can do this time, Sherlock..."

"I would if I could," Sherlock whispered, brushing his lips against her cheek. "All I can do is stay and make sure it happens again, and I don't like that feeling. I feel like I've failed you."

She smiled up at him. "You saved me... So so often..."

"That doesn't mean that it's ok," Sherlock wrapped her up in his arms. "Can I steal you for awhile? You look like you could use a break."

"I haven't managed to do a thing this morning... Go for it..."

Sherlock picked her up and settled them both on the sofa, Irene tucked under his chin. He hummed a song the children had been teaching him on the piano, and gently massaged her hands. She curled into his arms and rested her head against his chest.

He pulled a folded blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped them both up. The humid weather and stress had left a chill in both of them. He kissed her eyelids gently and wove their fingers together, cocooned in their own safe world for a bit.

Irene didn't speak. When she was with Sherlock, the thoughts slowed down enough that she could cope... She didn't feel swamped.

Sherlock kept her close, sheltered in his arms. He smiled at her, the feeling of her soft skin and warm breath like a promise everything would work out. He let his eyes drift shut, with a murmur. "Sleep, Love. I'll be here when you wake."

She shook her head. "No... I'll be okay... I just need to get the books finished... Get more of these girls and boys out of here..."

"You aren't accomplishing anything so far," Sherlock said. "Just for a little while. Then we can save the world."

Irene hummed a word. "Okay..." And she curled into him to sleep.

Sherlock held her, half awake. He was tired himself, but reluctant to leave her without himself or John guarding her.

He opened his eyes sometime later to find her studying him, a small smile on her face.  
"Yes?"

"You talk in your sleep..." She said softly, watching him.

"What did I say?" Sherlock asked thoughtfully, blushing.

"You were telling someone - Anderson, I think - that he was too stupid to live and should be shoved down the stairs for the sake of mankind "

"Oh, one thing Thailand has going for it, he isn't here," Sherlock laughed. "I was afraid I said something I didn't mean to."

Who is he and why is he a danger to himself and everyone he meets?" Irene asked, enjoying the ridiculousness of the conversation.

"He's a pathologist for the Yard. He couldn't be possibly wrong that often if he guessed! I despise incompetence and he's the dictionary definition."

Irene smile and nosed into his neck lightly. "Can't handle a bit of competition?" She teased.

"I can handle competition... If only. He has never interpreted a clue correctly. He is a distraction."

"I doubt he is half as distracting as you are, Mr Holmes," replied Irene with an amused expression.

"You find me.... distracting?" he teased Irene as he bent in to kiss her.

“You are highly distracting… and I would tie you up at my feet if I thought that it would allow me to work better, but I doubt that it will…” she hummed and kissed his throat lightly. She did not want to be touched, she still felt dirty… violated, but there was just… something there, she was retreating into the territory that she knew and she knew well.

Sherlock laughed. "If I'm distracting now, naked won't be much better." He tilted her head to see her eyes and frowned. "Ahhh, Irene." He kissed her forehead and frowned sadly. "I'm not here to use you for sex."

"What?" She frowned. "Why?"

"I love you," Sherlock said softly. "And you're hurting."  
"I always hurt, Sherlock... Have done for years..."

"I'm not going to have sex with you while you are in pain," Sherlock winced. "Being bruised from an attack is completely different than a whip.”

Irene scowled at that and rolled her eyes. " Even if it would make me feel better..." She shook her head.

"Better for a minute, and worse later," Sherlock sighed. "How about we have lunch with the children? They want to show you their music."

She smiled a little and nodded. “Yes, that’s a good idea… I need to get myself together a little…” she said as she stood.

Sherlock kissed her hand and smiled. "And then maybe I can take a look at the accounting that is troubling you."

She looked dubious and shrugged. “Okay…” she shrugged, and turned to go into the bedroom, and throwing the door open and walking into the wardrobe. “I need more money to get more kids out of here… The school is also growing…”

Sherlock looked at the numbers with a frown. "Oh, this is in the wrong column for a deposit." He pointed to a figure.

Irene frowned as she came in, dressed in one of her dresses, the back still open. She turned. “Do me up?” she asked as she turned.

Sherlock cut off a moan and ran his fingers down her spine, trailing kisses after them. He pulled her hair out of the way and zipped it carefully.

"Come to dinner with me tonight? I have cancelled all my work until further notice... I just want to spend time with you…

"Of course, anything you want," he turned her in his arms and laid his head onto her shoulder. "We can stay in if that's safer as well. John should be here by dinner." 

"I want to not let him win..." A hand ran through her hair. "I... Can't..."

"He's not going to win," Sherlock assured her. "But nothing wrong with us being cautious," he rubbed her fingers between his.

“He already had if I am afraid to go out and live my life…” she sat down beside Sherlock. “I… I wanted to be a ballerina once – I had talent. Then… when mum re-married… and Michael… well… I need him gone, Sherlock… out the way…” she stiffened, suddenly resolved. “You need to leave the country.”

"I'll leave the country when he's dead, and not a minute before. Let's not have this argument again, please?"

“Sherlock, I am going to have him killed… you cannot be linked to me or this in any way, you know that,” she said patiently as she piled her hair onto the top of her head. 

"I have my brother to clean up after me. What good is it having the British government in the family if I don't take advantage?" He wrapped his arms around her waist. "Besides, I'm selfish. I want you to be able to come home with me."

Irene shook her head. "Please, Sherlock... We can't be together. I'm at best, still a whore... I'm wanted for getting the British Royal Family into a scandal..."

"Then I'll stay," Sherlock decided. "Don't make me leave again, Irene, please. I can't survive another year like that."

"You can't stay," she said and she felt her walls come up. Self protection and preservation... The need to hide. Hide from feelings.

Sherlock backed up, and tried not to take it personally. "Please, Irene. Don't."

"I have to. You could be accused of murder if anyone finds out... It could destroy us both..."

"If no one can get past me with a murder, I'm the best choice to help you hide one. Why don't we ask John?"

"I don't expect to hide a murder, I expect him to vanish and never be found... But he is too prominent..."

"I think you underestimate me," Sherlock assured her. "No one will find a body, and no one in England will know he is gone until it's all blown over."

"Sherlock... Even so, we cannot be together. Could you stand me fucking other men?" She asked him, her tone bristling challenge.

Sherlock swallowed, his face full of horror. He shook his head and his shoulders sunk.

She softened and she reached for him. "Sherlock... Dear sweet Sherlock... I don't know how to be anything but this..." She gestured to herself. "A high class whore at best..."

A sound escaped him, somewhere between a sob and a scream. He backed into the hallway, and ran into John.

John took one look and shook his head. "What did she say? You know she's trying to make it easier for you to leave. Go back in there."

She had followed him out and stopped. "John is right, Sherlock. I can't have happily ever after..."

"John said nothing of the sort," Sherlock informed her. "ENOUGH. John, how soon can we make him disappear?"

"Actually I did some research on my way over here," John said. "The rice fields aren't going to be harvested for months. By then, nothing will be left but bones."

She looked between them with a growing sense of dread, and shook her head. Then she raised her hands to run at her temples. "How much?"

"I don't understand," John said. "How much what?"

"Sherlock wants to be the one who kills him. You'll help. I'm paying. How much?"

"We don't need pay," John said. "That's not what this is about. But one thing I will ask of you. Don't push him away this time."

"He is needed in London, I can't go back there," she said dryly.

"Let him decide for himself what he needs and wants," John scolded.

"Could you be happy, just running the house and the school?" Sherlock asked thoughtfully. "No clients?"

She frowned at him. "I don't know..." She said honestly.

"Maybe that's what you need to look at first," John suggested.

"I will get as many girls out of this place as I can," she said determinedly. "However I can..."

"I know, and I'm not asking you to change that," Sherlock said quietly. "But does that have to include you having private clients?"

"What do you suggest I do for money?" She said softly.

"What about teaching a school for Dominants and submissives, rather than having private clients?"

Irene sat down slowly on a chair and looked up at him. “You mean here? Or in London?” she asked slowly. “That’s… that’s not a bad idea…”

"Wherever you feel safer," Sherlock said.

"I talked to Mycroft," John added. "Apparently the princess has gotten herself pregnant and won't name the father. I think you might be the better part of that scandal at the moment."

Irene winced at that and smiled wryly. "In my defense... she came to me..."

"I don't think that matters anymore, they are on to other worries," Sherlock smiled. "But I want you to see Kate. That's something that you need to decide. She misses you terribly, and I know you do as well."

Irene turned to Sherlock, blinking slowly. "Kate... What about her? I have made sure she is well cared for..."

"Well, that's up to you," Sherlock said. "She was with you before we met. I don't have a right to ask you to give her up, especially not as your sub. She could live with us. Or she could run the house here in Bangkok. But I think that's a conversation for the two of you that doesn't concern me."

" You have already said that you don't want to share me... Does that include Women too?" She turned to look at him, and then slowly at John. "Mr Watson, I think you need the birds and the bees talk..'

"ME?" John turned red. "I've had more sex than him, thanks. This is between the two of you."

"With Sherlock..." She replied slowly. "Sherlock I was sleeping with Kate for years..."

"I know," Sherlock nodded. "I don't know that I can watch you work for money, Irene. Get paid to have sex with strangers. That's demeaning. But Kate loves you, and protected you for a long time. She has first claim on you, long before I did."

Irene nodded and sat back in her chair. Shameless, she chewed on one lip. "We will have to revisit and revise..."

"I'm sure," Sherlock nodded. "I don't know how I will react. If its not good, I will have to learn to say so. Although this all feels, incredibly adult."

John slipped out of the room as Sherlock rested his head against her hair.

She turned to him, and smiled. A sad smile but it was a smile. "How does it feel to be in love?" 

"I-" Sherlock shook his head. "You tell me. It's completely overwhelming."


	6. Chapter 6

"I’m feeling the same...' She said softly

Sherlock kissed the corner of her mouth softly. "If there's something I'm not doing, please tell me. This is so new, and I'm sure to do exactly the wrong thing."

Irene looked up at him and her hand went to his cheek. "I have no idea if I'm doing this right either..." She hummed.

"Well then," Sherlock nuzzled at her hand. "We can learn together. Let's get some food. Although, I'd rather eat you."

She chuckled at that, and gave him a once over. "Go and get in the shower, Holmes. I'll have a suit brought in to you. Are we taking Doctor Watson? Would he appreciate some... Company? So as not to feel like a third wheel?"

"John is used to being in unusual situations with me, and the less people he has to protect, the better. Will you come and wash my back?" He bit at the pads of her fingers seductively.

He wrapped his hands around her waist. "I don't know, I suppose it depends if you mind getting wet," he put her on the bathroom counter and devoured her mouth.

She turned to him, so he could see the back of the dress, the zip that covered pale skin.

"You're gorgeous," he whispered, unzipping it again. "But even more beautiful in just your skin." He turned the shower on warm, and turned back to see her dress hit the floor.

Her skin was a mottled mess of bruises, her back and ribs black from the kicking, several of the bruises looking like hand prints. She shimmied out the dress, and for the first time, she looked self conscious about being naked in front of him.

"Oh love," Sherlock hissed in pain. He went back to the bedroom for the massage oil, and warmed it in his hands before smoothing it over her skin. He took her hand and kissed it gently and wrapped her in his arms, tucked under his chin. He picked her up like a sleepy child and stepped into the bath with her. He settled her onto his lap and kept her encircled in his warmth.

“I’ll be alright, Sherlock…” She said softly as she leant against him. Everything that had happened was shoved away in her mind, and she was ignoring it until she was ready to deal with it… which would be never,

"I know, but I'm not leaving," he poured water over her skin to keep her warm. He kissed her gently.

“Good…” she said after a long moment, shivering at the touch.

"Stop trying to chase me away," he teased fondly. "Can I massage your feet?"

"Habit of a lifetime," she replied, equally fondly.

He reached down and rubbed her tense heels. "You and those high boots. It's a wonder you aren't sore all the time." He reached to rub over her hipbones and lower back.

 

"I like those thigh high boots," she said with a small smile, watching him. A tired gaze. Her fingers crossed under her chin. They were her armour.

"They look fantastic on you. But you're sore, let's give your body some time to heal," Sherlock laid his cheek against hers with a gentle nudge of his nose.

"If you're very lucky," she hummed, "I will only wear them for you and only you..."

"You should wear them when you like, I know they help you not to feel vulnerable," Sherlock noted thoughtfully. "But if you wanted to wear them, and use the riding crop, when you heal a bit, I'd never turn that down." He added more hot water and rubbed her bruised wrists gently.

"It helps you relax, doesn't it?" She mused softly.

"Yes, it does. It makes it quiet," Sherlock said. "But that's not what I need right now. Right now I need to take care of you."

"I wish I could make my mind quiet..." She said softly, she sounded sad.

"What would do that without pain?" Sherlock asked thoughtfully. "Have you tried sensory deprivation, or is that too much?"

"I don't understand," she sank back into the warm water.

"Blindfold, music on ear phones," Sherlock mouthed at her neck. "Not knowing what happens next."

"I've never tried it," she said slowly

"I found it was the only time this year... that I could handle things. The pain didn't really work as well, with other people doing it."

"Would you try sensory deprivation... On me?"

"Of course, if you like. Do you want to get dinner first?"

"I don't know..."

"You need to not make any decision right now," Sherlock said thoughtfully. "How about we eat with the children, and then we try the sensory deprivation? Then we can decide whether you feel up to going out or not."

She nodded slowly. She was letting him guide her, letting someone else take the lead. With a shivering whimper, she curled into him and started to weep softly. She was safe enough with him to do that.

Oh sweetheart," Sherlock picked her up out of the water and wrapped her in a towel. He brought a couple of others, and set her on the bed. He knelt by the bed and dried her slowly, starting at her feet. He ended wrapping a towel around her hair, after he had carefully patted her curls dry. Only then did he dry himself.

The emotions left her exhausted, a once proud woman who was being stalked by her past. "I am sorry," she said when she felt dry.

"Why?" Sherlock was puzzled. "You're safe. You can feel anything you need. I'm not going to leave your side."

"I am not used to feeling it. I shove it down and forget it," she said wryly.

"It's all new for both of us, then," Sherlock shook the water from his own hair. "Is there something comfortable you will wear in front of the children?"

She laughed as his face as he shook the water free and extended her hand to him. "Help me up. I'll dress... I need something to cover my skin..."

He picked her up and set her gently onto her feet with a kiss. He pulled on the clothes she'd laid out, and of course she knew what size. She had even accounted for his preference in tight shirts.

"Are they okay?" She asked as she approached. The elegant gown had been replaced with cotton trousers and a shirt, she was well covered.

"If you are comfortable," Sherlock took her hand. "You always look lovely."

"Do I look like a whore?" She said, smiling a little. "The kids get upse-" there was a scream from down the hall, where the girls worked. She was off, shoving past Sherlock.

Sherlock was behind her, gun already in hand. John met them in the hall, weapon drawn.

Irene didn't bother with either of them as she crashed into the room, hauling the male off one of her girls. "Get him out of here," she roared.

Sherlock grabbed him from her, and landed a punch that crunched with breaking cartilage. "Get your hands off these women! I have no problem making you regret it."

Irene was ignoring them as one of the girls, one of her girls sobbed on to her shoulder. She stayed with her, rocking slowly, comforting her. Her security staff came and dragged the man off, as Irene comforted the young woman.

"Can I take a look?" John asked softly. "I have my doctor kit downstairs, I can go get it. Who was he?"

"A customer... I don't stand for people treating my girls like dirt."

John frowned. "Where is your security detail right now?"

"Dragging him outside, gathering as many details as they can... Shh..." She rocked the sobbing girl. "Within the hour, I will have his name to his shoe size and then I can destroy him."

"I'm worried how he got past them. They should have stopped him before we did, although we have more practice," Sherlock frowned at John's words.

“It happens sometimes… this is a brothel, but the girls can always say no… its my rules, and if they are uncomfortable, they scream. That is how we run things around here…”

"Makes sense," John agreed, although he still shivered a bit. "Sherlock, can you send pictures to Lestrade and see if this man has known associations with Michael."

Irene looked up at him, and she hardened into something cold. "You think that's the case?"

"I think it's possible," Sherlock agreed. "Isn't this Clara's mother?"

The woman looked up at the name of her daughter and started to talk rapidly to Irene. Irene replied in a soft voice, comforting her as best as she could.

"That's what I was afraid of. No such thing as a coincidence," John looked resigned.

One of the other woman came, and Irene left the care of the woman to her. Thankfully she hadn't actually been hurt, it was just the fear of it leaving her exhausted.

John stood with her. "He's worried sick about you. And he's willing to make some really large concessions about Kate. At least be gracious if you refuse him."

"You know I should refuse him. You don't like me, Doctor Watson, do you?"

"I don't understand you," John said. "But if you were good to him, that wouldn't matter. This past year, it was like he was going through the motions, wasn't really alive."

" What do you want me to do, marry him? I don't do relationships with men. You've seen the bruises, Doctor Watson. I am as new at this as he is..."

"Be honest with him," John said. "I can't see him hurting you, even if you asked. He treats you like something precious."

"Which as we both know is probably a mistake," she said softly as she stood. "Where is he, anyway?"

"Everyone is precious Irene," John said softly. "Sherlock doesn't even see your scars. You're very lucky to have someone love you that way. It's... Rare.”

"Not yet, he doesn't," she said as her security staff approached and Sherlock handed her the wallet of the man.

John bent to whisper in her ear. "So tell him the whole story before he does."  
"Did Lestrade recognize him, Sherlock?"

"First search, nothing to show for it," he replied.

"We’ll send it to Mycroft as well," John suggested.

"Sherlock, shall we go have that lunch with the kids now? It's nice enough that they can eat outside in the garden's," she interrupted.

"Of course," Sherlock nodded. "And John can see them challenge me to a violin piano duet after. They taught me some new music yesterday and they want to see if I remember."

Irene chuckled and extended a hand for him and lead him too the gardens and the food was brought out. Irene sat in the floor with them as she ate, chatting.

Sherlock held out a piece of fruit for her to bite, and one of the young girls laughed. Sherlock blushed, and caught John's smile as he turned away.

Irene leaned towards him and bit into the fruit, and when she took the second bit, she made sure to catch his fingers.

Sherlock bit his lip to stifle a moan. His eyes turned dark, dilated from watching her suck on his fingers. "Tease," he breathed.

"Later..." She mouthed back. The kids had started to play, letting them sit alone in the shade of one of trees.

Sherlock wrapped her in his arms and they watched the children play. Sherlock avoided John's knowing smile, trying to focus on the children and ignore Irene tickling him with her fingers. 

Irene seemed happy in his arms, her eyes closed as she enjoyed a contented moment, before she shifted. Her neck and back cracked.

Sherlock frowned and rubbed her neck. "You still sore?"

"I'm always sore... I've had a stiff neck all my life..."

"You should have said," Sherlock rubbed his thumbs against the base of her skull. "Bangkok is known for its Thai massages, and you have a stiff neck?"

"I am not wonderful with people putting their hands on me?" She said with a wry smile. "Kate... Now you..." She arched like a cat.

"You're making me want to do more than put my hands on you," Sherlock brushed his lips against her ear.

She shivered, and arched. "Later... Right now, I want to judge this music that I have been hearing so much about!"

Sherlock laughed. "Yes, I was challenged to memorize some new pieces. Are you all ready to go inside?"

“I am going to stay out here for a bit,” she tugged him to her and kissed him. It was a sweet kiss, gentle and warm. “Love you…”

"Love you," Sherlock murmured, running his fingers through her hair. "Come on troops," he yelled to the kids. "Extra practice time!"

Irene found herself grinning as she watched him go to play with the kids and she lay back. The ground was soft and she found herself dozing sleepily.

John stood and kept watch in the doorway, where he could hear Sherlock playing, but still keep an eye on Irene. There wasn't enough protection for his preferences at the house, and it seemed that it was far too easy to get past the guards. He frowned as his phone went off, a message from Lestrade. The man wasn't wanted in the UK, but he was wanted in Eastern Europe. If there was one thing he had learned in Afghanistan, there were no coincidences.

Irene sat up as she saw John. She could hear music but John was pacing. “You are worried,” she said. She could read men like a book.

"The man that assaulted your client had a record in Eastern Europe," John admitted. "I don't believe in coincidences. And I have a bad feeling about this."

"You think that he is related to Michel?"

"There's no evidence," John sighed. "But I would bet money on it."

“Why?” she asked softly.

"Last time I ignored my instincts, I got invalidated back from Afghanistan," John said. "Good enough reason to not do it again."

Irene nodded. “So what do we do? What do I do?”

"One of us is going to be with you at all time, armed, until we know it's taken care of," John said. "I know we aren't the best of friends, but, let me do this for him?"

Irene nodded slowly. "For him..." 

"Besides, when you come back to London, you'll need some friends. Not that I'm particularly good company, but if you need a babysitter," John smiled.

Irene went white at that. That someone thought that... " I'm sterile, Doctor Watson," she said quietly.

"You have Clara back in England with Kate," John said with a smile. "And depending on what you two work out with Kate, I'm sure there's options. Sherlock is the most loyal family I have, and we aren't related."

"Clara is Kate’s... she always wanted children... I like kids, but I have never wanted to be a mother... and honestly, if Sherlock and I try this... we are going to have enough on our plate."

"You can always change your mind, there's no formula you have to follow, hey," John smiled as Sherlock appeared in the doorway.

"Lestrade messaged you as well?" Sherlock asked.

“Messaged about what?” Irene asked, her eyes on Sherlock. She drank him in. her eyes wandering up and down him, undressing him with her gaze. 

"The man who was thrown out," Sherlock said, eyeing John. "He keeps touching the pocket with his gun. Irene, would you like to hear the children play before we go upstairs?"

Irene ignored him and turned to John. “Are the children in danger?” she asked, as she tensed up. She was coiled like a spring, ready to defend those who were hers.

"I'm going to have Lestrade suggest a different security company," Sherlock said. "No offense towards yours, but... we can't be too careful. I asked the teachers to close the shutters, I hope you don't mind. No reason to give them a ready target."

She nodded. "Of course..." She rubbed her eyes. The question burned her tongue. She looked up at them. "How likely is this related to... My step brother?"

"I told you my opinion," John said.

"You can't prove it, but you feel it is," Sherlock frowned. "We'll go with that then. He's not been wrong yet."

She closed her eyes and nodded. “Okay…”

"We aren't going to let anything else happen," John said. "Go listen to the music and then take Sherlock upstairs, Irene. You could both use some time together."

She nodded and took Sherlock's hand as they walked into the room to listen to the children play, her hand entwined with his.

"They worked really hard," Sherlock told her, holding her close.

"Mister Sherlock, show her the bumblebee!" One of the girls yelled.

Irene looked at him and sat herself down on the floor with the rest of the kids, watching Sherlock. 

Sherlock took out the violin and played "The Flight of the Bumblebee". Several of the children clapped in delight, and one little boy spun in circles.

Irene clapped with the children, and pulled two or three onto her lap so they could clap together. 

Sherlock smiled and played "London Bridge", singing along with the children in Thai. "They have been challenging me to no end."

"Different," Sherlock smile and swung a child onto each shoulder. "Come here, little monkeys, Madame isn't feeling so well. Be careful. Go bother John." He set them off in John's direction.

They all tore off to go play with John, whether he wanted too or not. Irene sunk back into the bed and chuckled softly. "I love them... But children are hard work..."

Sherlock smiled and bent to kiss her. "Yes, they are. But worth it. Thank how many good people you are raising." He studied her face. "How are you doing?" He cupped her cheek with his hand and rubbed a finger across the circles under her eyes.

"I am in pain, I am miserable and being stalked by my step brother..." She said slowly and stood up. "I need to rest..."

"Come on, I'll hold you while you sleep," Sherlock guided her up the stairs and tucked her into his lap in the bed.

Irene curled into him. She was quiet but awake, her body relaxed and calm. She breathed. Slowly.

"You're lovely," Sherlock whispered. He bent and kissed her. "Tell me something about you I don't know?"

"I never wanted to be like this?" She said wryly. "I wanted to be... Normal."

"What's normal?" Sherlock asked with a sigh. "I've certainly never fit in that category. Growing up a Holmes, there were... certain expectations. And all the pressures that go with them. I learned how to waltz before I learned to have a conversation with someone my own age."

"You will have to teach me," she said as she looked up at him. "My life must be boring..." She mused.

"Any time," Sherlock smiled. "I warn you, Mycroft is much more graceful than me. I'm the musical one, he is the coordinated one."

"Mycroft wants me in prison where I cannot cause trouble...' She mused.

"I think Mycroft has other things on his plate," Sherlock said. "And there's stories I'm sure he doesn't want told. I am not above blackmail."

She turned to him and there was a faint rosy hue in her cheeks. "You would blackmail your brother... For me?"

"I would do ANYTHING for you, Irene. Haven't you learned that by now?"

"It's strange..." She twisted, winced and kissed him.

"Why is it strange?" He asked. "I love you." He helped her sit up so she was more comfortable.

" Because people don't love people like me... I'm there best fantasy and worst nightmare, top in the pile of wet dreams... But love me?"

"I love you. I wish you believed me," Sherlock said sadly. He ran a thumb over her bottom lip. "What can I do to prove it to you?"

"Just keep doing it..." She whispered as she cupped his cheek.

"That, I can promise you," Sherlock assured her. "Can I do anything to help you rest?"

"I don't want to rest... I'm restless... I want to get out for a while..."

"Ok, what would you like to do?"

Irene sat up. She looked restless, looked like she wanted to run or to fight. "I want too get out for a few hours... Just me and you...."

"Alright," Sherlock nodded. "Just tell me what you need."

“Quiet… away from here…” she said and stood. She changed her clothes and opened his hands to him. “Come… let’s go away… jus for a time…”

"Ok," Sherlock sent John a text message and they slipped out the side door, into the city

Irene slipped her hand into his and threw back her head, breathing deep.

Sherlock led her off, and they walked through the night bazaar. He had seen it several days before on a walk, and wanted to share the experience with Irene. He bought a bowl of fruit and fed her pieces as the walked through the vendors. There were beautiful traditional Thai clothes made of silk, pieces of art made with chips of semi precious stones, and everywhere the famous gold that adorned the wealthier women.

Irene walked with him, hand in hand. It was nice to just... Be together. They weren't talking, just walking side by side. Irene was smiling... But she wanted more. For the one who had rocked Sherlock's world, she was feeling somewhat shy around him. Reaching out, she took his hand.

Sherlock pulled her to him and looks at her thoughtfully. He saw something in her face that made him pause, and found them seats in a quiet area where he could reassure her. A soft kiss on the forehead, and he pulled her into his arms and held her close.

"Learning to read me, are you?" She hummed in his ear. Her head went to his shoulder.

"What about going to Singapore for a few days? We can let John take care of things here, and we can relax." He rubbed her back gently and held her.

The Woman nodded. “Yes… That sounds like a lovely idea…” she mused… and looked up. There were people, coming towards them… her head turned. More people."We should go..."

Sherlock kept a hand on her back and guided her. "You're lovely, Irene," he said softly in her ear.

“Sherlock,” there was something urgent in her tone, as she grabbed his hand. “We need to go… now!”

Sherlock didn't question it, he took off running and ducked into a cab, pulling her after him. "Tell me?"

The back window of the cab shattered as bullets were fired. Irene reached into Sherlock's jacket, sliding the gun out and leaning down. She returned fire, with quick, skilled shots.

"You're better at that than I am," Sherlock admitted. "Faster!" he yelled at the driver.

"It's not the first time I've been gunned for," she growled and leant back. They had lost them.

"I'm beginning to think we are underestimating your brother," Sherlock sighed. "I just want this to end."

"This is nothing to do with him," she snapped, then realised what she sounded like. "Think about it, Sherlock. I'm single handedly trying to disassemble the sex trade... It's going to piss people off."

"Let's get our papers and go away for a bit," Sherlock suggested. "I think we need a better guard system though. As much as I am loathe to admit it, you need more than I can do, and this is the sort of situation where Mycroft excels."

Irene growled and turned her head to look at Sherlock. Her emotions were hidden away, guarded carefully.  
"For the girls?"

"No. For you."

"Getting as many of them away from those men is far more important."

"And we will. But I need you safe as well, I'm selfish."

"I am not complaining..." she muttered.

"Get used to it," Sherlock warned. "I'm not going to let you out of my sight unless I'm satisfied that you are safe."

She gave him a warm smile and kissed his cheek. "Let’s... let's go away..."

"Anywhere," Sherlock agreed, escorting her back into the school. Irene gathered her papers whilst John and Sherlock talked security.

"Take care of them," Sherlock said wearily. "And call Mycroft. This is getting out of hand."

"That call needs to come from you, Sherlock, and you know that..."


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock sighed. "Keep an eye on her for a bit?" He pulled out his phone and dialed. "Brother dear, I need a favor."

“Sherlock, I am in the middle of an international incident,” drawled Mycroft Holmes, bored.

"Involving Thailand, I would assume, and the underage refugees?" Sherlock was frustrated. "Maybe I can clear some of this up for you."

There was a pause on the end of the line. "And what do you want in return?”

"I need a favor," Sherlock gritted his teeth. "I need protection for myself. And Miss Adler."

There was a very long pause. No 'Don't be silly, she's dead'. "Explain, Sherlock."

"I'm in Thailand, with Miss Adler, and John. Her brother has been something of an issue, he's attacked several women, and her. I need a better guard than I can hire, and John can't stay awake all night."

"What do you need from me?" He asked and he was deadly serious

"I need to get us out of the city until she heals," Sherlock said. "We got shot at in a cab today. I was thinking of taking her to Singapore for a few days. Her brother needs to be extradited back to England, and jailed. Or better yet, he should just disappear."

"Her brother... Michael Weston, correct?" Said Mycroft. "He is one that I cannot make vanish. "Friends in high places..."

"Can you arrest him?" Sherlock asked. "Or is this something I need to take care of myself?"

"This is something you will have to take care of," Mycroft said.

"Alright," Sherlock sighed. "Based on the physical decomposition rate in rice paddies, I think that's going to be our best bet. Arterial stab wound."

"Miss Adler... How did she survive being beheaded, Sherlock?" Asked Mycroft with a dangerous purr in his voice.

"Miss Adler wasn't beheaded, Mycroft," Sherlock laughed. "Your sources aren't as infallible as you purport them to be."

“So in other words, it was you,” he sighed as if he should have known all the time that his brother was the one who had caused trouble… again. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Sherlock's voice was a little too pleased. "But, back to business."

"Security for Miss Adler... From her step brother..." He growled softly, with a smile.

"Yes. How soon can you make it happen?"

"I will have someone contact you," and with that, he put the phone down.

Sherlock returned to Irene. "He's sending backup. But we have to take care of Michael."

"I want to," she said quietly, straightening up. Her gaze was hard.

"Ok, I think it will be good for you," Sherlock looked at her thoughtfully. "I hope it will give you some absolute closure, to know he can't come after you again. And besides," he smiled wryly, "You're a better shot."

Irene narrowed her eyes at him. " I'm not doing it for me. We will get him tonight," she said and then slipped into her room. The door behind her closed. Hard.

"I don't understand her, John," Sherlock relayed the conversations. 

"You idiot," John shook his head. "She's doing it to protect you and the girls. Not herself. If it was for herself, she would have done it long ago."

It was why at that very moment that they were talking, Irene was climbing out the window and jumped down into the street below. A hiss of pain and she melted into the crowd.

"Go talk to her," John suggested. "Don't let it sit."

Sherlock knocked on the door, but there was no answer. He called her, and tried again, but nothing. He tried the doorknob, which opened to reveal an empty room and open window.

"Where is she?" John asked as she followed him.

"I have no idea," Sherlock slid out the window. "Meet me out front."

John was there when he landed, looking around wildly. "She is trying to protect you..."

"Dammit, I know that," Sherlock seethed. "And if something happens to her in the process, it won't matter."

“Sherlock,” John crossed to him and grabbed his arms, looking at him. “Damn it, look at me. You need to be careful, what if they are watching and realise she is gone? You need to calm down. Now!”

Sherlock nodded and took a deep breath. "Where would she go? She had her papers. Airport?"

"Why? I think that they she would try and eliminate the threat..."

"Oh no..." Sherlock turned white. "Michael's apartment."

"Get a cab. I will call the police," he said, already pulling out his phone.

Sherlock flagged down a cab and thrust a wad of bills at the driver, yelling the address. They skidded to a stop in front of the building and Sherlock ran up the stairs, not waiting for John.

The door was closed, and the blood was already trickling out from under the door.

"John!" Sherlock yelled. He kicked the door several times, but to no avail. "Goddammit John, HURRY!"

The door opened. It was Irene. She was white as a ghost, blinking slowly. Her eyes were wide, she was shaking... she dropped the gun.

"Are you hurt?" Sherlock clutched her. "Is it your blood or his?"

She pointed her hand to the form of a body, lying on the floor in the next room... The room where the photos had been.

Sherlock let out a sigh of relief. John burst in the room, took one look at them, and checked Irene's pulse. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked.

She shook her head and sat down hard on the floor. "I need to run again..." she raked a hand through her hair. "Shit..." 

“You don't," Sherlock pulled her onto his lap. "I talked to Mycroft, he's sending security and papers. This was the only part we had to do."

She looked up at him, her eyes wide. "What... what do you mean?"

"We're good to go to Singapore," Sherlock put his coat around her. "Mycroft is sending a full time guard, for the school, and us."

"It's... over...?" she whispered.

"All over. All you have to do is figure out what you want to do after Singapore. If you want to stay here, or go back the England."

"Do you want me to come back to London?" he whispered.

"I want you to choose whatever you want, and I will go with you."

"I just want some... I want to go home..." she was withdrawing from Sherlock. She wanted Kate.

"Ok, let's wait for those papers at the school, ok?" Sherlock stood and helped her up. "Do you want to fly with John if you need some space?"

"I need it..." she smiled sadly. "Sorry..." 

"It's ok, he's great at things like this. Better than I am. Let me know if you want company later. I'm going to stay and get security covered here. And enjoy the children for a bit more."

Irene nodded and stood, going to John's side.

John took her into the bathroom and washed her hands. "I have an international license to carry. Let's get you cleaned up?"

"I need to go..." she rubbed her eyes. "I am so tired..."

"Ok, let's just get the blood and gunpowder off of you first," John soothed. He ejected the bullets from the gun and ran a cloth over them, before handling them to make sure his prints were on them.

"You shouldn't do that... I could buy off the police easily enough..." She sounded numb, sliding into shock.

"Stay with me? Almost done," John handed her a towel to dry her hands. "Sherlock, did you get Kate on the phone?"

"Here, Irene," Sherlock handed her the phone. John laid his hand on Sherlock's arm, to let them speak.

"Kate..." The words came out as a sob.

"You did the right thing," John said softly. He took Sherlock to the other room. "Give her time."

"I know, alright?" Sherlock gave him a pained look. "Stop looking at me like that. I know the odds of this ending well are small."

Kate and Irene talked in hushed voices, Irene closed the door between herself and the boy. John turned to Sherlock

“We need to get rid of the body. You know that she did this for you… right?” he asked softly.

"I know," he turned to John, eyes anguished. "Let's get this over with. Rice fields are fairly close."

John leant down and paused... Then pressed a finger too the man's pulse. He hadn't checked it before. "Sherlock..." He said in a hushed whisper. "He isnt dead yet..."

"Give me the gun," Sherlock gritted his teeth. "No. She'll hear. Knife?"

"Sherlock, you'll get caught," John looked at Sherlock and sighed, shaking his head. "Go. Take her back to the school. Give her something to drink... In my bag, at the bottom are sleeping tablets. I'll clean up here, then we will get the body out later."

"It's not a body yet, and it's my responsibility," Sherlock insisted. "And she doesn't want to be around me right now, she is going back to Kate."

"I am not going to let you make mistakes..." he grasped the wrist of the man who was his best friend. "Sherlock, she needs you. She is on the phone to Kate because she is scared... She is in love with you and something massive has just happened. She needs you."

"She is in love with Kate, and would rather fly back with you than me," Sherlock shivered. "She's been forced to do too many things in her life. Please, let her decide."

John straightened... and nodded slowly. "I’ll take her back... then I will come and help you."

"Thank you for understanding," Sherlock said. "I don't want to add to her being scared."

John slipped next door into the room and guided Irene out. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she looked exhausted. Ill. Approaching Sherlock, she paused before she kissed his cheek. Then she hurried after John. Broken.

Sherlock shivered and slipped the knife out of his pocket. He made eye contact with him and slid the knife under his ribcage. "You don't get to hurt her anymore," he said quietly.

It was a few hours when John came back, quiet as a ghost as he came into the room. "She's sleeping," he whispered.

"Good," Sherlock sighed. "I have a car waiting that won't ask any questions. Now that it's dark, that's perfect."

He nodded and crouched by the body, spreading out the tarp.

Sherlock avoided meeting his eyes. "I don't know how you did this in the army," he reluctantly admitted. "Being in the room, ugh. Corpses bother me far worse when the kill shot is mine.

"You think about something else," he said quietly, noting the new stab wound. "Irene is sleeping. I slipped her something because she started fretting and wanting to come back to you. Tell me what are you going to do when you get back to London?"

"Go back to Baker Street, call Lestrade," Sherlock ran a hand over tired eyes. "I'm sure Mycroft will have some sort of penance for me to do for dragging him into the middle of this, musical tickets with Mummy and Daddy no doubt. Season ones at that."

He paused and looked up at him, and snorted. “Mummy and Daddy?” he said, and his face broke into a grin.

"Don't you start too, it's Mycroft's favorite way to punish me, drop them off at Baker Street with theatre and dinner reservations," Sherlock sighed. "Which doesn't sound as bad right now as it usually does, actually. Going back to London, not knowing how it's going to turn out, I'm not looking forward to it. I can usually predict human behavior, and I'm too involved to be impartial."

"You want her to come home with you, let herself be saved by you..." He said softly.

"Of course I do, and I know nothing works out that way," Sherlock sighed and finished wrapping the body. "There's a large suitcase we can use and discard later."

"The body in the suitcase..." He chuckled a little. " It has a ring to it..."

Sherlock smothered a laugh. "This one is NOT going to get written up, I don't particularly want to spend my life in jail. And there are plenty of good things we do. Think of it as a service."

“I don’t particularly want to see you in jail. No offense to your… friend, but she is not one that I would go to prison for,” he smiled thinly as he wrapped rope around the tarp. “So, Sherlock, how do we hide all the evidence in here?”

"Bring anything with blood on it," Sherlock said, wrapping up a throw rug. "Anything that will decompose, put with the body. Anything else, use the other tarp and wrap it up. We can clean them and discard them around the city."

John did so, tossing the cleaning materials against the body and looking down at the dead man. "One more scumbag out the way... You know this will never be over for her? Can you handle that?"

"You still dream about Afghanistan every time you are upset," Sherlock said gently. "The violin soothes you. I kept a chart of results. It's not something I can erase, I understand that. But between Kate and I, I hope we can at least make it bearable."

"The violin soothes me because it wakes me up every time," John shot back but he was smiling.

"I've tried to wake you and I can't," Sherlock didn't meet his eyes. "It was more of a last ditch effort."

"So you tortured me with violin... Acceptable, I suppose," he said as he lifted the feet of the corpse.

"It's a little thing," Sherlock said, lifting the corpse's head. "I'm clearly not good at talking about things, so this was something I could do."

" It is appreciated, Sherlock," John said. "It really is... Until it wakes me up at four am, then it's not."

Sherlock smirked. "You don't get to pick and choose."

"Does Irene?"

"Irene can have whatever she likes. That's up to her."

“Sherlock…” John looked up at him. “Relationships have to be quil… They just do. You cannot give and give to her without expecting her to give something in return… you know that…”

"She gives me as much as she can," Sherlock said sharply. "Right now she has nothing to give."

"Do you think she would let herself be saved by you? Riding in on a white horse to save her?" he asked as they got the suitcase into the waiting car Mycroft had ordered.

"Of course not," Sherlock slammed the trunk. "That's why I need her to go back with you, and come to me when she can make a decision that isn't motivated by fear. And she needs to decide whether she actually needs me as well, or if Kate will be enough."

“What if she wants to stay here?” John asked as he circled around to get in the car on the other side. “I've heard what kind of reputation she has built up here… She had a lot of respect…”

"Then I'm sure Mycroft will make sure Kate gets here quickly," Sherlock cracked his knuckles. "I'm beginning to understand why people drink."

"You're in love, Sherlock," he smiled thinly. "Love hurts..."

"State the obvious," Sherlock grumbled. "I think I'd rather be shot. This is odd for me," he looked helpless. "No way to rationalize this that convinces my heart. Reason, my best tool, has deserted me."

“You have developed something that we mere mortals struggle with on a daily basis,” He shot back. “A heart.”

"Hearts are bloody awful things," Sherlock complained. "I don't like being a mortal. It hurts."

John smiled with understanding and nodded slowly. "Yes..." He said slowly. "Yes it does."

"Of course she doesn't want me, John. No reason to get my hopes up," he continued.

"You’re both strange creatures, I've seen stranger relationships work."

Sherlock sniffed in derision. "Always the optimist, John. Let's get this over with."

John chuckled softly as be helper Sherlock lift the body into the trunk and get into the car.

Sherlock set the GPS to the coordinates he had chosen, an abandoned rice farm south of the city. He composed half a dozen texts, but deleted them all without being sent.

It wasn't long before Irene sent a text to him. Two simple words.  
_Thank you._

He replied _anything_. They arrived at the rice field and Sherlock emptied the trunk into the muddy waters with a splash. He shivered and returned to where John stood waiting.

John was watching him with the gaze that said he was worried but wasn't going to say a thing. 

"This makes me realize how easy it is for people to be on the wrong side. Love is a powerful motivator. I consider right and wrong to be very black and white, and I didn't even think twice."

John nodded and stepped close to Sherlock, putting a hand on his arms. “Come on. Let’s get you back…”

Sherlock nodded and got into the car. He drifted into his mind palace, the look of Michael's eyes as he plunged in the knife burned into his eye lids.

It took time to get back to the school… and when they did… John sat up. “Sherlock…” He whispered. Smoke billowed into the sky, great black smoggy clouds. The school was on fire, the kids were all outside… as with the staff.

"He's dead. Shit, what did we miss? Where is Irene?"

"The kids are all out..." he said and practically fell out the car.

She answered on the first ring. "Sherlock..." she said quietly. From the sound of the background, she was nowhere near... she was at an airport. 

"You're ok, you're safe," Sherlock sighed in relief. "Be careful and travel safe, Irene. I love you." He turned to John, tears running down his face.

"Sherlock... I'm on my way home..." She said quietly, and there was a smile in her voice. "To London..."

"Tell Kate hi," Sherlock swallowed. "And don't lose the guards Mycroft sent. They will keep you safe."

"I was wondering if you would call your landlady... If I could stay until you get home..."

"If you like?" Sherlock froze. "Also C is empty, and she rents them furnished, if you want. What about... what about Kate?"

"I... Kate and I came together through circumstances beyond our control... She is happy, Sherlock... And I am in love with you..."

"No- are you sure?" Sherlock stuttered. He pulled at John's shoulder, a panicked look on his face.

"No," she said honestly. "I'm not sure... But I've never felt like this before and... Well... You know more about me then anyone else... I would like to find out of that is how I feel... If you will have me?'

"Don't even ask, yes, of course. How soon.... how soon do you want me to meet you?"

"Whenever you come home to me," she was smiling. "I love you, Sherlock..." 

"I love... You too," Sherlock was stunned. "Are there more seats on your flight? How soon does it leave?"

"I am boarding now. I have arranged for the kids to continue schooling and promoted a new head teacher while I'm away."

"Alright, let me make sure they are settled, and I'll come to you. I want to make sure they are safe," Sherlock smiled. "I love you Irene.”

"I love you too, Sherlock..." She said quietly and then hung up.

"Let's get the children settled, John," Sherlock smiled at his phone. "Let's get more security from Mycroft as well for them.'

"You don't believe the BS about her going to London, do you?" John asked, clearly unhappy.

"I want to," Sherlock said quietly. "But I'm going to make sure the children are safe. I'm not holding my breath."

John nodded, pleased that Sherlock was taking her words with a pinch of salt. He smiled weakly and nodded. "Come on you..."

Sherlock left Mrs. Hudson a message explaining to let Irene in if she appeared, and followed it up with a call to Mycroft. He explained the fire, the fact that the children and teachers were being moved to another location, and that security would need to be expanded. He also informed Mycroft that Irene was supposedly heading to Baker Street, and that there would need to be a guard at the airport to meet her in case that was true.

Four days later, John seemed to relax as they landed in London Heathrow. Irene had arrived safe, apparently, and was being watched. She has not left the house apparently, and Mrs. Hudson was looking after her. She was... healing. 

Sherlock grumbled impatiently at customs. He had never been so glad to see one of Mycroft's cars waiting. He got in, tossing his luggage after him. "So brother, tell me."

"Tell you? You caused another international incident, how about you tell me?"

"I'm sure I owe you something, brother mine," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "As far as another international incident, I think I'm due to at least try to be happy once in my life. It's the first time I've ever asked for that luxury."

"Happy with a whore? Does she know your a virgin?" He barked.

"I haven't been a virgin in quite some time, your networks are slacking Mycroft," Sherlock frowned. "And what Irene and I do together personally is exactly none of your business. I don't get between you and Lestrade and your silly dancing around each other pretending to be straight, so I expect you to afford me the same privileges."

It wasn't often that Sherlock had the delight of of seeing his brother shocked, but at that moment, he looked it. They drove in silence.

Sherlock checked his watch, and then his phone. He tried not to look nervous, but his nerves were betraying him. He tapped his fingers, then glanced out the window again. He ignored John's unhappy glance and bounced his knee up and down.

Eventually Mycroft snapped. "Would you settle down!" He snarled, ignoring John's eye roll. "The Woman is at your apartment."


End file.
